


The Rebel

by FutureSeer



Category: Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-24 10:50:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 82,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17099210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FutureSeer/pseuds/FutureSeer
Summary: What if Xena had never taken up the sword in the first place? Ravaged by war, Gabrielle muses over this possibility. Little did she know, some pesky god was listening and granted her a wish. Sent back into time, Gabrielle is able to encounter a young Xena. (reposted from FFN profile: thatisanicecoat)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello fellow Xenites! I am reposting my Xena fic, "The Rebel", from my FFN account, thatisanicecoat. I wrote this story back in 2012, and it seems fandom has moved to Archive, so I thought maybe more people would be able to find it. So, I hope you all enjoy! I've resisted the urge to edit much of the younger writer I was. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to Xena: Warrior Princess. This is purely a work of fanfiction.

**The Rebel**

 

 

 _If I had_ clamored _at Thy Gate_

 _For_ gift _of Life on Earth,_

_And, thrusting through the souls that wait,_

_Flung headlong into birth––_

_Even then, even then, for gin and snare_

_About my pathway spread,_

_Gods, I had mocked Thy thoughtful care_

_Before I joined the Dead!_

_But now?... I was beneath Thy Hand_

_Ere yet the Planets came._

_And now––though Planets pass, I stand_

_The witness to Thy shame!_

                                                          -"The Rebel", Rudyard Kipling

 

I. 

It is in a small clearing in the late late night, the moon at a half-sliver, in which a young woman paces. This is their last night here, from which they will catch a ship at the next port and forever be rid of this cursed Brittainia. What a wretched place! What wretched things have happened here. And it's all her fault.

Yes, thinks the young woman. It is because of  _her_  bloodlust,  _her_  insatiable hatred for Caesar that all this has happened. And why shouldn't I be mad? Why must I pay and pay for all her hatred? Would it that she never picked up a sword in the first place! Where would it have had to have stopped? Corinth? Solan? No, much earlier than that. With Lao Ma? The young woman's mind tangles through the webs of her friend's history and arrives at the beginning: With Cortese and Amphipolis. Yes, if only she could travel back to that time and that town and warn the young warrior what would happen if she continued to burn as she did—how much she would destroy—how much she would come to despise herself for her destruction. How much better would it be if only I could offer her my love then? When it would have been simple to give, easy, uncomplicated by everything that has happened.

The young woman looks up to the dim stars and silently casts her plea to the gods. She should know better, what with all her dealings with those on Olympus, that any prayer in vain sparks the interest of those bored immortals. But the young woman had already abandoned the thought, breathed deeply the night air and gathered all her pain in her arms and let it wrap her up and consume her.

"Gabrielle?" That deep, silvery voice through the trees, thickened by sleep. The young woman shakes herself and walks back through the trees to their campsite. The fire is mere embers, emitting faint wisps of smoke, too much heat. Their bedrolls are laid out next to each other, as they usually are. But Gabrielle couldn't feel further away from her companion. She feels worlds away, stars shooting past, planets, all the heavens in between them.

"Come back to bed," says Xena. She sleepily holds a corner of the fur open for her. And so, with a sigh, Gabrielle slips into the bedroll beside her and feels her pain and her love for this woman knotting through her chest. The tension only uncoils when she feels the warrior's arm creep mindfully over her hip and settle on her stomach. Gabrielle drifts back into sleep.

 

There is something unusually bright shining into her closed eyes. There is something much too warm on her face. There is something much too wet at her back. With a groan, Gabrielle opens her eyes to find herself, not in her bedroll, not next to Xena, not in a forest in Brittainia— but in a field. In a Grecian field, it seems by the flowers in bloom. She must have been here all morning, from the dew that had soaked through her thin shift from the reeds. The sun sits so high in the sky.

What happened? How did she get here? Perhaps I'm dreaming, thinks Gabrielle. She closes her eyes once more and listens to the sounds of life around her: The wind which whips the tips of the sawgrass against her legs, how it roars like a sea through the treetops; she hears the sound of running water as it trips down stones and pebbles and felled trees. At the thought of water, Gabrielle realizes she is very thirsty. She sees upon standing, that she had lain in a meadow just below a hill which slopes faintly upward, then steeply down into the farming steppes. Gabrielle knows this field. She and Xena had been here many times before. She is standing only a few lengths away from the eastern road that leads into Amphipolis. She also knows that if she travels beyond that western copse, there rushes the river.

At the water's edge, Gabrielle takes a moment to collect herself. What happened? Perhaps she was ill, lost her memory? Maybe this was Xena's idea of a joke. But, she dismissed that idea as ridiculous the moment it passed. Perhaps this is a vision? Yes, perhaps she is to be shown something in this vision of great importance. She will need to be more vigilant now. Gabrielle kneels on the red clay bank and gathers her blonde hair into a knot and moves it off her neck. She then lowers her head into the gently flowing river. The water is cold, jolting, so real-feeling that she can't quite dismiss it as a dream. She resurfaces and barely has time to wipe the water from her eyes when she hears a branch snap. Gabrielle jerks her head around at the noise, half-blind.

"Who's there?" she says, taking the chance to clear her eyes. When she can see clearly, she looks around and slowly begins to stand. She knows she heard something. Ready to pass it off as an animal, there comes a rustling from over—

  _Splash!_  the water explodes over her, soaking her shift and hair. Sputtering, Gabrielle knows she is not dreaming now. Again, she wipes the water from her face and looks at the figure standing in the middle of the stream. It is a girl, young but at the threshold of womanhood; she has long black hair, knotted in free swaying dreads. She wears a black woven leather vest, tarnished buckles, leather pants that disappear at the thigh into the river water rushing around her. In her hand is a knife, and for a moment the blade shines blue in the clarity of her eyes. It only takes a moment for Gabrielle to recognize the girl. It takes one more moment for her to get over her shock.

"Look, I didn't mean to scare ya that bad," says the girl. She leaps with dexterity onto the bank beside a still-soaking Gabrielle.

"Xena?" she says, her eyes wide. The girl stops, the knife still in her hand. She eyes this strange blonde woman in a sleeping shift.

"How do you know my name?" she demands. Her eyebrows knit together in that familiar foreboding way.

"I um... I can explain," says Gabrielle.

"Start talking."

"My name is Gabrielle." The young Xena registers this news, almost looking like she recognizes the name. "And I'm from a village not far from here. A village called Potidaea."

"I've heard of it, yes. Famous for that battle in the Peloponnesian wars."

"Yes, so you have."

"That still doesn't answer my question. How do you know my name?"

This Xena is much more impatient and easily agitated, Gabrielle discovers. She considers her next words a moment, then decides that if Xena could love her many years from now, she could love her again in this world, in this time as well.

"I have the gift of prophecy," says Gabrielle.

The girl is intrigued, alleviated from a small portion of her distrust. Xena, however, does not take her eyes off the strange blonde woman as she walks the few steps to a crab apple tree. She throws her knife casually, so it spins and cuts the stem of a plump green apple that it falls neatly into her hand; she leaves the knife sticking out of the trunk of the tree. Gabrielle nearly snickers and ruins her aura of mystique— Xena has always been a show-off.

"So tell me, Gabrielle," Xena drawls, her voice slightly higher than matured tone, "what prophecy told you my name?".

"I had a dream," she lied, "I had a dream that led me to this river and I met a woman named Xena. She was much older than you are now, by ten summers at least. She turned out to be the most loyal friend I have ever known."

Xena walks closer to Gabrielle until she is only a few foot-lengths away. Gabrielle has the chance to get a more detailed appreciation for the difference between the woman she knows and this younger version of her friend.

By the gods, Xena was a beauty even in her teenage years. Her beauty is much wilder now though, much more mischievous; her beauty is less controlled, less like the sharp stoicism of her beauty in later years. There is a ruddy flush to her cheek. She looks less haunted, no deep rings of sleeplessness under her eyes. Although, there is a small cut above her brow and there are a few scratches on the sides of her arms. It looks like she had recently been in a scuffle. Xena smirks, her eyes bright, steps even closer to the strange blonde woman.

"Ever had a crab apple? The cows eat 'em, but I like the sour taste," she offers the small fruit to Gabrielle. Gabrielle takes the apple from Xena's hand, their fingers brushing lightly. Over the fruit at her lips, the green of her eyes briefly meets the tide of Xena's stare. They share their eyes a moment, and then Gabrielle takes a crisp bite, not flinching at its bitterness. Xena smiles for real now, and it transforms her face, making her look so much younger. "What am I like, ten summers older?"

It is Gabrielle's turn to smile now. Then, suddenly, it turns to a frown. Brittainia. Dahak. Caesar. Xena registers this range of emotions on the young woman's face and frowns in response.

"That bad, huh?" she jokes, crossing her arms over her chest.

"No, not at all," Gabrielle places her hand on Xena's forearm, "You will be the finest of women, the finest of warriors, the finest of those who seek the greater good. You will be a fiercely loyal friend, the most profound friend of my life." These words nearly conjure tears; they shock Gabrielle with how true they are. Suddenly, the reality of the situation hits her. The gods have granted her wish. Here she is, an impressionable young warrior princess, and here I am, a few years her elder able to impart influence and guidance. She wonders if Xena had already fought Cortese; for some reason, Gabrielle didn't think so.

"You really think all that?" answers Xena.

"I really do," she answers, moving her hand back to Xena's arm.

"You really are a strange nut aren't you lady?" she smiles that lopsided smile, more carefree than Gabrielle has ever seen it.

"Sure am," she says.

"So, where are your clothes?"

Gabrielle looks briefly around her and shrugs, "I don't have any."

"Don't have any? What, did you pawn them? Are you on the run?" Xena is ribbing her now, beginning to circle her playfully.

It strikes her friend how full of energy this young woman is, it nearly snaps together like lightning behind her eyes.

"Nothing like that. Someone must have stolen them." Well, it wasn't a total lie.

"Come on, then. We'll make like the Samaritans and get ya clothed and fed. My mother owns an inn down there in town." Xena begins to walk in that direction, expecting Gabrielle to fall at her heels as she does in her later years too. She stops at the crab apple tree and withdraws the knife from its bark.

"I have no dinars!" Gabrielle calls.

Xena answers over her shoulder, "No clothes. I figured no dinars. Still, though. I suppose I could share a few of my things, seeing as we're future best friends and all."

With a brief grin to herself, Gabrielle starts off after her young friend.


	2. Chapter 2

II.

The busy swell of patrons at the Amphipolis Inn is surprising to Gabrielle. This must have been Cyrene's heyday, she considers. She has yet to spot Xena's mother in her cursory look around. Xena had disappeared for a moment to retrieve a knitted summer chemise to throw over her unclothed friend. Gabrielle is grateful for its warmth and for its modesty as she follows her friend through the lunch crowd.

Xena expertly weaves her way through the throngs of diners. Tables full of seasoned farmers, loudly squawking over a shared lunch of pickled mackerel and olives; travelers speaking in low confessional voices to one another over mugs of cider; barmaids bustling by with trays laden with steaming soups and fat brown loaves of bread. A few patrons grasp Xena's shoulder in greeting.

"Vernix," she says to one man, "Have you seen Lyceus?"

"He's buying at market, you know that, had to saddle the horses so damn early this morn. He's too eager a kid, that kinda spirit will only kill him young," he answers, clapping a large hand on her back.

Gabrielle frowns. Lyceus. Of course! Her brother is still alive.

"Right," Xena shoots him a darting glance. "Well, how about mother?"

"In the kitchen," he says, moving past her. Gabrielle moves closer to Xena's back, grasping her elbow.

"Who was that?" she asks.

"Mother's current flame," Xena snarls.

Is that so? Gabrielle thinks.

In the kitchen, Cyrene and three other women tend to the stoves. Xena's mother is much younger, and very striking in her youth. If she had not thought it before, she now knows where Xena gets her allure. Cyrene wears a bright blue scarf wrapped casually around full luscious black hair, her figure is trimmed into a neat linen dress and apron; she kneads dough on the tabletop. Xena leads Gabrielle further inside and jumps up to sit on the counter beside her mother's working hands. The similarity between the two women is very great, so great that friction exists now where it does not in later years.

"Oh, Xena! You're getting my table dirty. Aren't you supposed to be fishing for overstock? You know, your brother's already in town," says Cyrene, not looking up from her dough.

"I was fishing. But, look what I found: A little blonde soothsayer." Xena laughs, picking up a biscuit from a passing tray and popping it into her mouth.

"What?" says Cyrene. She looks up and finally sees Gabrielle, hair still wringing wet from the river. She smiles faintly.

"Can she stay for a bit?" asks her daughter.

"Has she got the dinars?"

"Nope."

"Aw, Xena, not another of your take-ins, huh? The last one stole most of the cutlery! This isn't a poorhouse, and besides all the rooms are booked solid this cycle."

"She'll stay with me." Xena looks at Gabrielle as if willing the woman to challenge her. "I'll share my rations."

"Ugh, you needn't be so dramatic. Yes, she can stay. Now, get out of my kitchen before I put you to work."

Xena scoots off the counter and grabs Gabrielle's elbow to pull her along the narrow aisles of the kitchen. She gathers a plate and a heaping portion of turkey breast, two large slabs of thick warm grain bread, two cups of soup, two mugs of cider. She hands one of the mugs to Gabrielle and leads her once more out into the common eating area.

High above her head, Xena balances a tray laden with their food. Gabrielle can see how strong she is, how only Xena can turn the gracelessness of youth into a bloom.

"Xena! Over here!" one young man yells. He sits with a few other of his compatriots at a table in the corner. Xena looks back over her shoulder toward her new friend and gestures for them to sit at that table.

"Healthy appetite you got there, Xe," says the young man, offering the seat next to him.

"I'm eating for two," she says, unburdening herself of the tray onto the table. "Meet my new best friend, Gabrielle. She's the Prophetess of Potidaea."

"Quite the title," he grins, welcoming the blonde woman.

"Gabrielle, meet my older brother Toris," says Xena, digging into the bread from the tray. Toris outstretches his hand; Gabrielle gingerly takes it in greeting. His eyes are much kinder now than when she met him so full of hate and vengeance many years later. She can sense the rivalry between the siblings, but not the animosity yet. Yet.

"So, did you hear about the raiders?" Toris begins, ribbing one of his mates.

"Hear what?" Xena leans in, at once interested.

Gabrielle can see the flame ignite in her eye. Here we go, she thinks. Toris leans conspiratorially toward his sister, respect for her in his confidence.

"Big army, this guy has. Full of mercenaries, cut-throats, thieves. He's been marching his way through upper Thrace. Rumour has it, he's making his way east toward Amphipolis."

Gabrielle can see Xena's face set into the ghost of that hard-thinking expression she knows so well. Toris' friend is asking some question about ranks when Xena suddenly interrupts, "Did you get his name, Toris?" 

"The warlord's?" he asks.

She nods.

"Nah, could be any number of those opportunistic bastards. They mobilize when there's a good harvest."

"Mobilize," Xena tastes the word in her mouth. "Yeah, that's it." She gathers speed, steam, "We need to meet action for action, brother. If we're threatened, we meet threat for threat. You know as well as I, we should start mounting defense. I've been keeping an eye on this army Toris, and they're blazing a trail through Thrace hotter than Hades himself."

"Hush now," Toris harshly quiets, "We can't start thinking like that just yet. If we just concentrate our efforts on gleaning this season's crop, then we'll have enough to set aside for the village and enough to bargain for our safety. They'll take what they need and leave us be."

Toris' friend leans in, "We could never amount enough manpower to tickle their noses, Xena. These are professional warriors." The young man fixes her with a condescending look, mopping his damp brown hair from his forehead. Xena's eyes flash and suddenly she is on her feet; she slams a palm down on the wood tabletop, making the mugs jump with a clatter.

"Idiot!" she spits, "These are mercenaries! You think all they want is loot? I'm telling you, Dimas, they want blood. And they won't stop unless someone forces them to stop." Toris catches one of his sister's wrists and attempts to calm her. She rips it from his grasp. Dimas bites his tongue, wisely Gabrielle assumes. It seems this young Xena has a reputation for a temper.

"Cool yourself, panther," says Toris, trying to make light. His sister shoots him a glance. "Besides, it's not for us to worry over, it's for the elders."

"Who sit like women with their skirts around their ankles! They're bound to listen to us when warlords are with burning torches at our doors!" Xena paces, drawing a few glances from those at the peripheral tables.

She's scared, Gabrielle realizes. Oh, Xena, you were so young! so brash, pacing like a cornered foal. Upon instinct, Gabrielle reaches to secure one of Xena's hands. The young woman abruptly stops, looks briefly at the strange blonde woman, and for the first time in her remembered life, she feels the anger recede, the roiling blood quiets. Xena subtly withdraws her hand. "At least Lyceus agrees," she shoots back at her brother.

"Course he would if you said it. You're gonna lead that boy right to his grave!" fires Toris.

"At least he'll die a man, not like his coward brother," says Xena, teeth clenched.

Gabrielle lurches at the foreshadowing nature of this conversation. It sends a wave of fear down her own spine.

"That's enough," says Gabrielle, standing as well. The two siblings look to her, surprise evident in their eyes. Dimas and the other boy also look to her incredulously. Apparently, it is thought best among those who know Cyrene's children not to intervene when they are in the heat of an argument. "Nothing will be solved by insulting each other." Xena snorts but does not say anything else.

"Well, what do you think Gabrielle?" asks Toris, taking a too-controlled sip of his cider. "Surely, you don't think we should encourage the wrath of warlords."

"No, I don't," says Gabrielle. Xena turns to her sharply and she knows that she will have to choose her words very carefully if she wants to maintain the trust between herself and this young rebel. Toris looks at his sister snidely.

"But I don't think you should lay down like beaten dogs either," Gabrielle continues.

It is Xena's turn to smirk. "So, what do you suggest?" Xena's voice is almost a whisper.

"War is always the last option one should choose. A wise friend of mine once said that carrying a sword makes you a target. Killing changes everything." Gabrielle's words are directed toward Xena, yet she has no idea how closely she is being listened to. "Words and compromise are always something you try first."

"And if your enemy is deaf and dumb?" Xena takes her seat. Beside her, Gabrielle lowers herself into a chair.

"Strike only when struck, Xena. Toris has a good idea. Why not try to negotiate with the warlord first?"

Xena emits a disgusted noise, "And when they come next season, and the season after that? Even if they don't torch Amphipolis— Why should we give out of our labor what is ours, just because someone threatens us? The gods do not favor the weak, Gabrielle."

"Compromise is not weak. Talking is not weak. If the raiders don't respond, then you have a choice whether to meet force for force."

"I suppose you're right," the dark-haired girl says slowly, "Although, we have to have a backup plan if we choose to fight. Isn't that right? So, why not prepare ourselves."

"Fool," Toris mutters under his breath.

"Sounds right to me, Xena," says Dimas, picking up on her logic. Gabrielle feels herself walking a very thin rope. She lays a hand once more on her friend's arm, noting the jerk that threatens to distance them.

"But, you have to understand, there has to be a way to combat evil without sinking down to their level, without becoming a monstrosity yourself. Blood stains the hand, not for days, but for all the days of your life. Take it from someone who knows." She thinks of that temple in Brittainia, her knife sliding into the side of that woman's chest. Gabrielle meets Xena's stare, meets the wild question in those blue eyes. Who are you? those eyes seem to ask.

"Finally," interrupts Toris, "you got yourself a smart friend."

The spell is broken between the two women, and the conversation—they recognize—is over for now. "All right, lads. Back to the fields. Dimas, I know that fence in the south pasture needs mending before the sheep escape. We'll start out there." The three young men get up, gathering their plates and mugs. "Oh, and Xena, don't forget the meat needs stocking. Get a few pheasants for the evening, will ya? Give you a chance to wreck that bloodlust on something useful." At Xena's snarl, he turns to his sister's companion. "Nice to meet you, Gabrielle. Maybe you'll be a civilising influence on her. See you at dinner, I'm sure." With that, the young men take off through the lunch crowd also beginning to clear back out into the late summer day to take up their duties once more.

"Thinks he's a bloody drill master," mutters Xena. Gabrielle meets her smirk and shares a laugh at Toris' expense. All is kindled between them, and Gabrielle's mission flares up new in her chest. This can be different, she thinks, I can save her.


	3. Chapter 3

III.

In a ramshackle barn behind the Inn, Xena locates a hunting bow and quiver. She exits the barn to find Gabrielle waiting patiently by the compost heap, watching the townspeople conduct their business further through the alley out on the market compound. Xena pauses a moment to study this enigmatic young woman. Well, surely, she is strange; that isn't in question. But, smart. Perhaps she is sent to me by the Fates, muses Xena, slinging her longbow over her shoulder.

"Hey, blondie!" she calls. Gabrielle turns in her direction and offers an intimate smile. She really does act like she's known me for years and not just an afternoon, thinks Xena. "Can you hunt?"

"I prefer not to," answers Gabrielle.

Xena shakes her head and chuckles."What a creature you are," she says, smiling strangely, "Come on. Watch me. I'll teach you how to use a bow like Artemis herself." She starts off in the direction of the woods, trusting Gabrielle to, again, follow her. So, she's much cockier too, Gabrielle laughs in the privacy of her own thoughts. She has to check herself for a moment because even this young Xena is surprising to her. If she expected Xena to follow her blindly, to listen more easily in her youth— well, Gabrielle had better prepare herself to be challenged. Xena was never a follower; she was a born leader: It's in her blood, pumping through with virility, with preternatural strength; it's in her walk, her tone, her curious smile, her guarded eyes. Yes, this is going to warrant some caution on Gabrielle's part. Indeed the Loom of the Fates—the fabric of our lives—does warrant caution; the cloth may rip irreparably, given a careless stitch. She hurries to catch Xena's long strides.

"Isn't there some other work I can do in repayment for your generosity?" asks Gabrielle, now walking easily at Xena's side.

The younger woman rolls her eyes. "Nah, you're far too interesting to let wander too far."

"You think I'm interesting?"

"Sure. More interesting than anyone in this town. You'll meet my younger brother, Lyceus, at dinner tonight. I think you'll like him. Better company than Toris, at least. Unless, of course, you've already met him in some dream." Xena laughs softly, but there is an edge of distrust to her voice.

"No, I haven't," Gabrielle assures, "Look, Xena, just because I had that dream of you, doesn't mean I claim to know you. I don't want you to think that I'm trying to tell you how you are. As much as that Xena from the dream seems real to me, I know that this is what's real now. You are who you are, right now in this moment. And I'd like for us to be friends." Gabrielle knows she has struck a vulnerable place in Xena's careful armor. She knows in the way her companion sets her shoulders a little straighter and pauses in between the trees.

"No other agenda?" she asks, fixing an unsettling stare on the blonde woman.

"None," Gabrielle replies.

"Honest?"

"I swear by my own heart, Xena of Amphipolis, I will not mislead you."

Xena holds her stare a moment longer, then utters in a low voice, "And I swear by mine, Gabrielle of Potidaea, I'll cut out yours if you do."

Gabrielle shivers, her chemise feeling much less modest than it had earlier. She swears in own heart, not to mislead herself. A truce between them now, the two women continue on their hunt through the trees.

 

Much later, the sun deep in the purplish western skies, Xena and Gabrielle make their way back toward the Inn. The blonde woman now carries the bow and quiver over her shoulder, for Xena carries a string of dead fowl and a good-sized doe over her own rounded shoulders. They stop for a moment on the crest of the hill overlooking Amphipolis, near the spot where Gabrielle had woken earlier that day. Behind the blood-matted fur of the deer, Xena smiles brilliantly in the twilight. It is directed at her companion, who had successfully brought down two of those wild turkeys. Gabrielle purposefully omitted that Xena herself had given Gabrielle many lessons in the art of archery. Never mind all that training with the Amazons. And so when this cocksure young woman handed her demure blonde companion the longbow, she was in for quite the surprise. Gabrielle considered it a small victory. Especially now, in that smile, her face with a smudge of dirt and sweat, that smile illumining the fields in the fading light. As in her older self, there is a feral quirk to that mouth, a wild pleasure in the thriving world. If Gabrielle had not thought it before about her illustrious companion, she thinks now that this woman is among the most truly alive. With another breath, they continue down the embankment into town.

 

Upon entering, they find the Inn as crowded if not more so than it had been in the afternoon. Xena struggles through the few people obstructing the doorway, knocking her dead hinds into them. A few of the farmers seated below let out a whistle at Xena's stock.

"Wish I had me a son like you, Xena!" one of the men yells.

"Wish you had a  _daughter_ like me, ya son-of-a-sow!" she calls back.

The men guffaw and raise their mugs of port in her direction. Gabrielle marvels at the sight of a young girl gaining the respect of grown men. Figures, she smiles to herself.

"Hey, Lyceus!" Xena calls suddenly. A young man with curled dark hair turns at her voice and relishes such a wide smile at his sister's arrival. "Give me a hand here, brother!"

He hands the platter he had been carrying to a passing barkeep and hurries over to help unburden his sister. From her shoulder, he takes the string of birds and they continue through the crowd toward the kitchen. Xena half-turns and beckons Gabrielle onward with a flick of her eyes.

In the kitchen, Cyrene is once again tirelessly directing traffic. She seems to thrive in the chaos though, and Gabrielle has to wonder again at the similarity between the woman and her daughter. Cyrene's eyes alight at the game Xena and Lyceus bring in and she stops mid-instructing one of her aproned helpers.

"Oh, Xena, you're good for something aren't you!" she exclaims.

"Ain't she?" Lyceus jests, shooting his sister a fond look.

"Just put it over there in the stockpile and we'll have the girls plucking soon enough. Vernix will dress the doe out back."

"Gabrielle here got two of those birds," Xena says, unloading the heavy deer where her mother had instructed. She breathes a sigh of relief, mopping her brow with a blood-stained hand.

"Is that so?" says Cyrene, looking to Gabrielle still with the bow, "Good to have someone useful around." She smiles warmly.

Lyceus appears at Xena's side, throwing a casual elbow on his sister's shoulder; they are dead even in height and look more like fraternal twins than siblings born three years apart. They look so much more similar than Xena and Toris. Gabrielle knows where allegiances lay, not that that had been a secret thus far. But right now, right in this moment—with the kitchen in an uproar and the two people she loved best near her and no burden of responsibility save a good day of hunting—Xena looks more happy, more content than Gabrielle had ever witnessed in their other life. The vision is one that makes her harden her resolve. I can save them, she thinks. If only but to preserve that look on my friend's face.

"You gonna introduce your friend, Xe?" asks Lyceus.

"Gabrielle meet my younger brother, Lyceus," Xena gestures between them.

The young man smiles, warmth flooding his handsome face. "A goddess among peasants," he says, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Gabrielle."

"The pleasure is mine," the woman answers sincerely. Xena shoves him playfully aside.

"Sweet talker," she chides, "Come on Gabrielle, let's go get cleaned up for dinner".

 

Outside, the sun is nearly disappeared from the sky. Xena relieves Gabrielle of the bow and stores it back inside the barn. She leads her around the other side of the Inn to the horse stable, then to a water trough that sits nearby. Beside the trough is a sunken springhouse. Xena disappears inside and exits moments later with two buckets of water in each hand. She walks back to Gabrielle and slops the water into the trough. She sets the buckets down, then begins to wash her hands. Gabrielle follows suit, splashing the cool water over her heated face.

"My brother is in love with you," Xena says suddenly.

Gabrielle sputters and coughs, then looks up at her friend. "He just met me!" she protests.

"Yeah, but I know that look of his. He falls in love too easily." She smiles at the thought. It does not go unnoticed by her companion. "Are you in love with him?" Xena asks, quirking an eyebrow.

Gabrielle looks at Xena, smiling in spite of herself. "I don't fall in love that easily," she says. But she knows that she does indeed. Love comes so easily, so effortlessly to Gabrielle at the sight of this young girl, with those wild blue eyes and her wild black hair, and her dirty face. And Gabrielle finds herself seeing with fresh eyes her long-time companion. She falls down– down- down into the quickness of her love for this woman. She feels all over again that rush of emotion that overtakes her when she looks into Xena's eyes. Gabrielle has a fleeting awareness of a tense metallic weight coiling its way through her chest. This can't be fair, she thinks. Am I manipulating her? Will I change her in a way she'll never forgive me for? The young woman in question shakes her head, begins to wash that dirty face of hers. Gabrielle resumes the task herself, letting that niggling worry to be washed away by the cool water.

 

 

 

Heaped upon the table are two of the prepared turkeys, large bowls of smashed potatoes, small clay dishes of oiled olives, some boiled and salted cabbage heads, four loaves of flatbread. Gabrielle takes a seat near the head of the table, in which place settles Cyrene. Across from Gabrielle sits Xena, and to her left sits Lyceus, but not before politely asking her for the privilege. Xena was right, her younger brother was certainly a charmer. Earlier, on their way back from the springhouse, Xena had explained that on the same day every cycle, her mother arranges a meal with all their extended relations still living in Amphipolis. Tonight just so happens to be one of those family dinners. And so, Gabrielle takes a seat, eager to witness Xena in this particular situation. Her mirth nearly bubbles over at the thought of the grown version of her friend at a dinner like this; she'd have been so bored, so annoyed that she was made to sit through all this. But this younger Xena seems to relish the gathering of her kinfolk; it means she has a captive audience. What Xena would need an audience for is the only troubling thought in Gabrielle's head. Other than that, she is content to eat ravenously and enjoy everyone's company.

Toris appears a few moments later, taking his place next to Xena, and conversations erupt between the dinner guests, loud exclamations of business dealings, comments on the good weather that held all the day long. Gabrielle talked to many people around her, answered questions about her self and her day of work. No one, it suddenly occurred to her, had even asked her name. It didn't seem to matter; if you ate at this table, you were considered family. It was so different from the silent dinners that she and her family in Potidaea had shared in her own youth. She glances to Lyceus, who is deep into the telling of his day at the market.

"And I swear, no one had anything but cabbages!" he laughs, tears forming at the corners of his eyes, "So I grabbed an armload of the damn vegetables and staggered over to old Legas, you know Mufias' father, and I asked if he had any cabbages for sale. Poor bugger says, 'Aye, Lyceus, had o' good turn with t' cabbages this season!'" Gabrielle smiles more at Xena's loud bark of laughter at her brother's retelling. Lyceus glances to his dinner companion to see if she found his story amusing. She relents a genuine smile to him and registers that blush that creeps over his fair skin. Maybe Xena's right, she amuses herself.

"So, Gabrielle," says Lyceus, "tell us about yourself. What do you do for work? Or do you just roam the countryside, befriending beastly village girls?"

Gabrielle has the grace to laugh. She catches the mock-threatening look Xena sends in his direction. "You have a talent for words," Gabrielle counters.

"I'm a bard," he says, "Or, at least I want to be one eventually. But, tell us. Where do you come from?"

A bard? Gabrielle is stuck on the admission. Xena never told me her mourned and deified younger brother was a bard. She files the information away.

"What a coincidence," she says, "I also think of myself as a bard."

Lyceus' smile widens, "Xena, you didn't tell me that!"

Xena is looking at her friend strangely again. "She never divulged to me," she says evenly, taking a sip from her mug of port.

"It didn't come up," soothes Gabrielle, turning her attention back to Lyceus, "Anyway, we should savor the crowd and tell some stories tonight. Maybe when everyone is a bit drunker."

"I like this one," Lyceus aims at Xena.

Xena smiles slightly, tucking into her salted cabbage. Suddenly, there is a louder voice above the din of conversing people.

"Ho, all right listen up!" he booms, "I got here some information fer all of ya." Lyceus informs Gabrielle that this is one of the village elders, their great uncle. "I know tell has been spreading, like wildfire here in this town, that the raiders are headed west." There is a collective gasp. "They've crossed the bay at the Northern Sporades, soon they'll hit Meride and Potidaea before they make their way north to Amphipolis." Gabrielle silently curses this man, for he brought the world crashing back into their few stolen moments of youth and bliss. The sound of her hometown from the elder's lips sends a jarring wave of reality over her once more. She feels Xena's eyes trained hard on her reaction. Gabrielle reaches back into the history scrolls she had read so long ago in her local library; had Cortese sacked Potidaea in his rampage over Thrace? She couldn't remember. She damned her memory. Xena's eyes still bore into her.

"So here's the question, folks," continues the elder, "How much crop, how much grain, how much livestock are we willing to part with when the army passes?" A low murmur rumbles through the dinner guests.

"I hear there's a cabbage surplus this season," offers Lyceus. Toris emits a soft yelp of barely contained laughter. Even Xena cracks a smile, but her attention turns serious once again, focusing back on her great uncle's hulking form.

"Ah, yes. Good suggestion, young man. Milfirth, how are the sheep holding in the southern pasture?"

"Good! Good! Only two lambs picked off by the foxes this week," answers a man whom Gabrielle determines to be Milfirth. Then, there is a cacophony of voices offering up meager evaluations of their warlord tithes. Gabrielle senses rather than sees the fire building in Xena's eyes. She watches the dark-haired young woman open her mouth and speak a few words drowned out by the louder voices of her kin. Then Xena stands up, stepping one boot on the seat of her chair. Once properly standing above the gathered patrons of the Inn's dining room—half the town it seems—she lets out a loud yell, sounding eerily like her battle cry.

"What's his name!" she roars. Her kinsmen and neighbors quiet, and the noise settles like a valley between them.

"Xena!" her mother admonishes, but only half-heartedly.

"What's that, Xena?" asks the elder, a weary note in his voice. This must be a regular occurrence, thinks Gabrielle and the thought makes her feel pride in her friend. Xena never had a problem with speaking her mind. Or being heard.

"I said, what is his name," she says again, still standing on the chair.

"Whose?"

"The warlord's, the bloody commanding general of the raiders! Whose army is coming this way?" Her voice is grated and impatient.

"Anyone get the name?" the elder casts about. Many blank faces meet his query.

Xena utters an oath under her breath. It suddenly occurs to Gabrielle what Xena is doing. It is an excellent tactic in any rhetorician's or good general's repertoire: withholding information for the purpose of discovering the extent of her subjects' knowledge.

"His name is Cortese," she intones. The room, if possible, gets even more silent. "Now, I found this out a week ago from a passing tradesman. An entire week has gone by. A whole week full of gossip and rumors and whispers of marauders. And not one of you bothered to find out his name. You think you're prepared to face an army like this? It's been many seasons and many moons since last Amphipolis was threatened by bandits. Too long have we lived peacefully, that we forget what war is like!"

"Nor do you, Xena! You're but a runt, yet!" calls out one of the men.

"An informed runt," she snarls. The man sneers at her.

Gabrielle feels her blood running cold through the entire exchange.

"Listen, I know what you all think. You think we'll hand over a couple wagonloads of cabbages to this Cortese and they'll just ramble on and save their pillaging for some other poor town. Let Larissa get razed, let Pheree be ravaged, let Meride get burned, let Potidaea burn too," she catches Gabrielle's eye, "but we'll be spared, of course. We're good people. Why would the gods punish good people? Here is a fact, Thessalia is burning in the wake of this Cortese. Here is another fact, he will not spare us. He will kill all our men and enslave our women."

There are a few shouts of protest. She has them hung on her every word.

"Cortese will do this, but only if we let him. I say we keep the fruit of our labor to ourselves, to ensure our own prosperity, to ensure that our own children have plenty to eat come harsh winter! We worked hard for what we have, and we have a very prosperous land. Why give it up to murdering warlords? Just because they frighten us into submission!"

"Xena—" Toris warns. A worried look is shared between Cyrene and her two sons. Xena does not seem to notice.

"I say, we fight for what is ours!" she yells. Her eyes are wide, sparing no person their fierce touch. A loud jeer of approval greets her from those in the tavern.

Gabrielle suddenly realizes where the Destroyer of Nations had come from, how the demon forces of War had corrupted Xena's gifts of leadership and intellect. She can see the naked pleasure in the clear eyes of that young woman. Gabrielle can see how it invigorates this young Xena, that she can so sway men who claim to be her elders, her superiors. What a struggle for domination all this is for her; how much misplaced pride in her homeland and her kin and her own power she must have possessed to want to ignite this fire. Her own heart is stirred at the vision; it is a fearful stirring. All right, she decides, the time for passivity is long past. Gabrielle stands as well.

"Wait!" she yells at the top of her lungs. "Listen to me!" Cyrene and her children all wheel around to fix the strange blonde woman with their attention.

"And who are you?" demands the elder. Ah, now they want to know my name, admits Gabrielle.

"She's my friend," says Xena, warring for the crowd's attention.

"My name is Gabrielle. I have kin in Potidaea, a village not far from here on the warpath of Cortese," she says, trusting in her ability to regale a crowd of inn patrons. "What Xena says is true. This is a dangerous army. If you do not prepare yourselves, you will fall victim to their cruelty." She can feel Xena's eyes on her. "Preparing for all-out war is not the answer, however. It will only get you all killed."

"What then, do you suggest we do, young lady?" asks the elder. Gabrielle allows herself a moment to gather her thoughts. This is an important facet of her plan, to get the townspeople and Xena to trust her.

"Put together small defense groups. Begin training with the weapons on hand. I assume this village has one trained in the martial arts?" Many of the faces turn toward Xena. "Right," Gabrielle continues, "begin some training. I'm sure if we put our heads together, we can think of some tactic to pool our resources. Remember, we have the advantage of defending familiar territory. Aside from physical defence strategy, however, we must be willing to negotiate with Cortese and his officials."

"Here we go," mutters Xena. Lyceus shoots her a glance.

"I think that if we pose even a little bit of a threat, or a willingness to meet with force, that Cortese will move on. Think about it: He will have had some major accumulation of loot from other unprotesting villages, he will have to be tired from his long campaign through Thessaly and Thrace. This is why I think he'll pass us by in favor of easier pickings. And remember, the goal here is to evade a full-on attack, to spare not a single life," she directs her words right to Xena's ear, "But if we are met by force, let us not think it cowardice to give them their bounty in favor of sparing our lives. It is not cowardly to want to live; but to rest on our laurels and do nothing in our ignorance, that is to bring shame on our families."

"Here, here!" a man toasts, and the crowd erupts in a unanimous cheer of agreement. Across the commotion of the table, Gabrielle meets Xena's eye. The young woman has that strange look again, almost willing to believe in the divine as she digests her new friend's words. Perhaps this Gabrielle is of the gods; the thought passes not for the first time through her mind.

Once the excitement had died down, dinner finished, and the townspeople shuffling about and ready to return home for the evening, Lyceus approaches his sister's older friend.

"That was quite a show," he said. Gabrielle blushes. "I'm serious, that was something else. You're a wise woman, Gabrielle. Not everyone can put Xena in her place. I hope you'll be staying with us for a while."

At that jibe, Xena materializes next to the pair. "I'm going to bed," she reports in dark tone, "You two be back before dawn now, huh?"

Gabrielle catches her meaning before Lyceus does. Again, she blushes. "I'm pretty tired too actually," she says quickly. "Where did you say I could sleep again, Xena?"

"With me," she growls.

Gabrielle swallows at the thought of sharing a bed with that animal of a temper. Xena turns and stalks off through the tavern, toward rear exit. Gabrielle turns back to Lyceus, fixing him with a sympathetic look. "She always that testy?" Gabrielle asks.

"Most of the time," he confirms, "Sorry about that, you know? She likes to be in charge of things."

"Yeah," agrees Gabrielle, "she does. Well, it was nice to meet you Lyceus. I'm sure I'll see you in the morning."

"Have a good night, Gabrielle. The gods' blessings on your silver tongue where my sister is concerned". Lyceus leans to plant a chaste kiss on the woman's cheek. Gabrielle feels herself warm. There must be something magic in this family's blood; each one can get a rise out of her. She smiles at his retreating back, then resolves herself to go in search of the brooding young rebel.


	4. Chapter 4

 

IV.

Gabrielle finds Xena near the stables, pacing in the moonlight. It is a full moon, so much brighter than the moon she left behind in her other life. Was it just last night? Things are just as complicated in this world, Gabrielle allows. She steels herself and begins to walk in her friend's direction.

"Xena," she calls softly. The dark woman looks up, her eyes flashing such a startling blue.

"Who do you think you are?" she demands when Gabrielle gets nearer.

"You know who I am."

"No, I don't! You show up half-naked near  _my_  river, like some priestess of the waters, like outta some bard's fairy tale, and you convince  _my_  village, convince  _my_ people,  _my_ family not to fight against a warlord who'll probably kill them all!"

"You don't know that—" Gabrielle tries.

Xena waives her attempt. "I do. I do know that. You know why? Because I'm smart. I know because I'm smarter than all these people here, smarter than the elders, smarter than my brothers, smarter than my mother and that oaf, Vernix. I'm not some village quirk, not some ignorant child that you can come teach your mild ways of peace and prudence. I'm not!" Xena is inches from Gabrielle's face, and the older woman feels the other's breath on her face. Her own face flushes at their proximity.

"What happened?" she says simply.

Xena locks her eyes incredulously to Gabrielle's, not allowing herself to understand her question.

"Why are you so angry?"

"I was baptized in Ares' blood," Xena replies, deadly serious.

Gabrielle cannot help the laugh that bubbles up from her chest and escapes.

Xena does not take this well. "Why are you laughing?" she yells, kicking a bucket over in her impatience.

"Oh, Xena. Come now. I'm not the enemy here."

"You have made yourself an enemy," she spits. Gabrielle eyes a stack of long sticks to be fitted to the iron casts of hoes and shovels. She suddenly understands how to reach her young companion through the storm of her anger. Without answering, she walks to the pile and selects two staffs. She hands one to her erstwhile friend, which Xena takes, confusion evident on her face.

"Then make me a true enemy and fight," she says. 

Xena grips the staff, her eyes betraying her disbelief.

"I'll make you a deal," says Gabrielle, "If you win, I walk away tonight and you never have to see me again. You can rally your makeshift soldiers however you please. But if I win, you hear me out. You listen to me, and I mean really listen."

Xena snorts, twirls the staff effortlessly in a hand. "All right," she says, centering her gravity into an anticipatory stance. "Deal."

The darker woman delivers the first blow; it is a solid hit, which Gabrielle blocks with some strain. That was a hit in anger though, and she knows each stroke will not be as strong. Gabrielle silently offers up a prayer to whatever god tricked her into this life— that the young warrior princess' skill has not advanced to its full potential yet. Xena counters with a double cross, hitting Gabrielle's staff with both tips in quick succession. Again, the older woman rebuffs. Gabrielle counters now, pressing the advantage of Xena's sudden onslaught. The young woman's staff batters down on the elder's, and still, she holds her ground.

Seeing Xena momentarily off-balance from simply trying to overpower the slighter woman, Gabrielle thrusts quickly forward, catching Xena in the ribs. Xena recoils, taking a few steps backward, her breath knocked out of her. Once it is regained, she rasps out a few still angry words: "You convince my people to lay down and die for the sake of peace. Yet, you fight well." She takes a few breaths, spitting expertly onto the ground. "Tell me, oh bard, if I don't stand up to Cortese, who will? If no one stands against evil, then evil wins right? Simple logic."

Oh, Xena. Gabrielle's heart clenches. When did all your idealism go asunder? Yes, you're right. You're right! If good does not rise up to fight evil, evil wins. That's the whole point. Even now, even here in a silly scrap near the stable of your mother's inn, you understand it. When did you let the anger take control? At what point did it stop being about fighting for a purpose? When did you decide to unleash your own dogs of hell over all the earth, to make all its people pay for your pain?

Gabrielle almost misses the brutal  _thwack!_  of Xena's staff. At the last second, she moves with quick reflex and catches the tip before it catches the side of her head. Xena counters left to Gabrielle's right but makes the mistake of betraying her next move by the position of her eyes. Gabrielle is easily able to feint right, then catch Xena on the chin on the upstroke. The younger woman is stunned, giving the bard ample time to sweep under her partner's feet and disarm her. Xena lands with a thunk on the ground. A horse neighs at the sound. Gabrielle kicks her staff away and fixes Xena to the ground with the end of her stick on her chest.

"You're right, Xena. You're right to want to do good by your people." Gabrielle speaks down to her, lodging her booted foot on the woman's heaving chest. "But it's not all about that is it?" Xena knocks Gabrielle's boot and stick off her chest and rolls away. She stays down, however, admitting her defeat.

"What do you mean?" she says.

"It's that hatred inside you. It's that fear inside you. Cortese is taking all the power from you by terrorizing your thoughts of him and his army. It's a brutal force. It's not weak to feel fear, Xena. I understand wanting to take back control. But you want to do that by way of blood. I believe that killing is wrong. I try not to kill. I have, and it nearly destroyed my soul. I could feel my innocence splinter when I took that life." Xena stands at that, keeping her back to Gabrielle, who continues. "I would give anything to not have killed. It was self-defense, but that doesn't make me feel less guilty. I'm telling you, Xena, there is a better way. There is a way beyond all your darkness."

For a moment, there is only silence between them. Xena's shoulders are slumped forward, and if Gabrielle had blinked she would have missed the small shudder that ran through that girl's body.

Then, the defeated woman's voice, "How do you know this?"

Gabrielle has to smile at that; Xena always challenges by what authority one says anything.

"Because I know you," says Gabrielle. "The truth is, I woke up this morning and saw you by the river and I recognized you. As I knew I would, as I know I always will."

"You speak like a madwoman," says Xena, although there is humor in her voice; her back is still turned. Gabrielle bridges the gap between them, chancing a tentative hand on her shoulder. Xena relents at the touch, turning to face the strange blonde woman. Gabrielle makes a point of dropping her staff onto the ground. Xena does the same. Gabrielle gathers Xena's hands into her own, trying to still their shaking.

"You know me too," she says, looking into Xena's eyes. Even at this age, the dark-haired woman still stands head higher than her blonde companion. Xena smirks, looks down, her sweaty bangs falling into her eyes. "You do," Gabrielle assures her. She tips Xena's chin upward and gently draws her eyes from their hiding; the storm clouds shift and it seems Xena is finally looking at this other person, a person whom she finds is not so strange after all. In Gabrielle's eyes, she discovers a friend, someone with whom to place her trust. But there is something more than that, something that burns fiercely down in the depths of those green eyes. This is not some wanton seer, promoting her message of peace through the lower Grecian lands, but a woman who is meant to be precisely where she is, with precisely whom she is with. Xena feels she has discovered something buried even from Gabrielle's own awareness. Xena finds that she can translate the look in her friend's eyes, and what she reads is simple: I am for you, they say.

"You must be scared too," says Xena.

"Of course."

"You must worry over your family in Potidaea."

Gabrielle allows herself a moment's panic. Is her younger self in that village? Lila can only a be a small baby now. Are her parents there? What if in this life, Cortese does attack her village. Gabrielle resigns to traverse that line of concern in the morning.

"You're right, I'm very scared," she admits. Xena can see the truth of her friend's words. And suddenly, she feels an overwhelming need to comfort this woman, a need to relieve her pain. So, without much presence of mind, nor a thought to how addled her mind really felt from the wide display of emotions which surged through her that day, Xena leans down and captures the blonde's lips.

For a minute, Gabrielle is stunned into inaction. For another moment she responds, moving her lips in deep, guttural response to Xena's mouth. And then her senses fly through all the planets and all the heavens and return to her with brute force. She tears herself away, turning her back on Xena. Her hand flutters up to touch her lips; her nerves feel frayed to the raw end.

"I'm guessing your dream Xena never did that, huh?" she says in a low voice.

Gabrielle shakes her head subtly. "Nope," comes the thin reply.

"Well, she should have," says Xena. And with that, she turns and walks back along the path to the family's cottage across the small courtyard. Once again, she trusts Gabrielle to follow.

By all the Fates, thinks Gabrielle, what twists they have given me.


	5. Chapter 5

 

V. 

After some serious debate last night, Xena had elected to throw a few blankets on the floor of the cottage and drift almost effortlessly into a deep sleep atop them. So, upon principle of her stubbornness, Gabrielle awakes nestled into the warmth of Xena's childhood bed. In some part of her, Gabrielle had thought she would wake up back in Brittainia, all this having been a strange dream. In truth, she feels a little pang in her chest at not having her grown warrior greet her in the morning, having a pot of tea already brewing over the fire.

She wipes the sleep from her eyes and takes a cursory look around the room. It is sparse, little to no decoration, clothing folded evenly on a small shelf, a few bits of leather and bone needle on a nearby table that Xena surely tinkered with in the last few days. One set of woolen slippers sits on the floor next to a cedar chest; a sleeping shift is thrown over one of the bedposts. Gabrielle takes a moment to breathe in the familiar scent all around her, in the cotton of her own shift. It all smells distinctly of Xena, a floral musk, leather, trees. Gabrielle also finds herself quite alone in the room. Upon locating a small pile of clothes laid out next to her head on the pillow, she draws the covers quickly off. Xena had left her another chemise, although with loose-fitting brown pants and a hastily repaired leather belt. Gabrielle strips off her nightshift and dons Xena's clothes.

She is led by a beautiful sound coming from the kitchen, which lilts and drifts out the back door, past the stables, over the courtyard. Many are busy milling around the place, chopping wood, cleaning hooves, collecting eggs, chasing after a few wanton hens. Gabrielle follows the humming voice to the back entrance of the inn, and then through the stockroom, finally into the kitchen. The sight that greets her nearly does her in for the surprise.

Xena has exchanged her leather fixings of yesterday for a blue linen peasant's dress; in like fashion of her mother, she has a scarf knotted loosely around her black hair. In the largest of wooden bowls, Xena's hands disappear into a flour mixture, the sleeves of her dress rolled to the elbows. What is most surprising however, is that she does not notice Gabrielle's entrance and that she is singing out loud without any fear of being overheard, the song of her people. Aside from funerals and a few choice evenings by the fire in a moment of absolute privacy, Gabrielle has never heard her friend sing so fully and so irreverently. It is such a beautiful sound.

"You can sing," she spoils.

Xena looks up, seemingly unfazed by Gabrielle's entrance. A smile lights up her face. "You look good in my clothes."

"Thank you," says Gabrielle, moving further into the kitchen. "Is there anything I can help with? Where is everyone?"

"Well, I'm just about done here. The help will be here any moment."

"I didn't know you could cook," jests the bard.

The young warrior gives her a fleeting look from the periphery of her vision. "I have many skills."

Gabrielle snorts.

"Cooking isn't really one of them," Xena relents, "Mother taught me how to make the biscuit batter, figured I couldn't mess up three ingredients. I make it every morning." Xena stoops momentarily to resurface with a thick metal baking sheet. She begins to dollop small rounded portions of the mixture onto the surface. "Lyceus and I were considering a morning swim. Perhaps you'd like to join us?"

"I would love to," Gabrielle concedes.

"Great," says Xena, sticking her long finger into the batter. She raises the laden finger to her lips and licks the batter off. Gabrielle suddenly remembers their errant kiss last evening. It brings a strong surge of blush up the back of her neck as she watches Xena savor the taste of the dough, her eyes betraying her pleasure. "Mother is with Vernix; they're on their way over to Azarius' farm, few leagues north. Rumour has it they grow tubers instead of cabbages there."

That warrants a laugh from her companion. Today, Gabrielle gathered, is a day of leisure for the people of Amphipolis. She can tell by Xena's easy demeanor, that and perhaps she had exorcized some demons last night. The young woman grabs a towel and dries her hands, then snaps it frivolously at Gabrielle's backside. "Come on," she plays, "Let me wash up and I'll meet you out by the big oak tree round front." With that, she disappears out the back of the kitchen.

Gabrielle sits under the shade of the giant oak tree, her back against the rough bark of its trunk. The summer sun already blazes heat down on its Grecian subjects; today will prove to be a very warm day. She glances up through the branches, up through the green canopy of leaves; she sees the sky blue against those leaves and she thinks that today she will savor this peace and this beauty. Potidaea had already crept through her thoughts, leaving the ache of worry, but Gabrielle wanted to eschew that worry for now. Let us have this peace, she thinks.

"Gabrielle!" comes a voice not far off. She abandons the oak branches and seeks out the caller. There, down on the path that leads up the hill, appears Lyceus in an easy tunic and pants. He waves eagerly in her direction. Behind him appears Toris, Dimas, and another young woman— Gabrielle cannot make out her features. It is not Xena; this girl is thinner, brown-haired, and she walks with a certain feminine temerity that is absent in Xena's gait.

"Good morning!" says Lyceus, once he reaches the tree. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, I did, thank you," replies Gabrielle, smiling.

"Hello," says Toris.

Dimas nods in her direction, a piece of cowtail reed stuck between his lips.

"This is Alaethea," Lyceus introduces his female friend. She presents herself in front of the shorter blonde woman and Gabrielle finds that this Alaethea is a very beautiful girl. Her eyes are a deep grey, her face thin and finely etched, her skin pale and smooth.

"You must be Gabrielle, the bard of Potidaea," she says, extending her hand. Gabrielle takes it graciously. "I heard you caused quite a scene at the Inn last night."

"Yeah well, I like the sound of my own voice," she replies with good humor.

"So, you're Xena's friend?" she asks, a wary catch evident in her silky tone.

"I am."

"She's a wild girl," says Alaethea. Gabrielle merely raises her eyebrows.

"My ears are ringing," comes that silvery voice from the pathway. All five of them turn their head at the sound and see Xena—once more dressed in her black leathers—walking toward them with a few pieces of cloth and a small satchel in her arms. Within a moment, she is welcomed to the group. "Can't leave you alone for a minute," Xena aims at Gabrielle.

"Hey, Xe," greets Alaethea. Gabrielle notes the possessiveness in her use of the shortened name. The thought makes her grimace: Not  _another_  of Xena's jealous old flames.

"Alaethea," Xena nods, slinging an arm around Lyceus' shoulders. "To the river?" She does not wait for anyone's confirmation, merely leads her brother playfully by the neck further down the path.

They take a different route than Xena had ever shown Gabrielle, in this life or the other. It leads them further down through the southern pasture. Xena makes it a point to hop boundlessly over a few of the grazing sheep; she seems to take pleasure in scaring them away. Dimas and Lyceus zig-zag on their chase after her, swearing oaths to catch her and throw her headlong into the river. Toris walks a few paces ahead with Alaethea, carefully taking her arm. Gabrielle watches all these youthful exchanges with a wistful look in her eye. Let us have this peace, she thinks.

She watches as Lyceus bounds back in her direction. He stops a few feet short of her slow pace, smiling brightly, his cheeks ruddy with exertion.

"What a beautiful day, huh?" he says. Gabrielle nods, unable to stop smiling. He too is among the most alive. Xena and Lyceus, these children of the sun. She feels poetry swimming through her and she welcomes its swelling. She hadn't thought of poetry since Brittainia... no poetry since the birth of Hope. Then, as if reading her thoughts, Lyceus begins to quote:

"We, like the leaves of many-blossomed Spring,

When the sun's rays their sudden radiance fling

In growing strength, on earth, a little while,

Delighted, to see youth's blooming flowerets smile.

Not with that wisdom of the Gods endued,

To judge aright of evil and of good."

 

Gabrielle sighs, looking once more up at the sky. "That's Mimnermus, right?"

Lyceus nods, then he points to Toris and his companion.

"Alaethea is Toris' betrothed. See how he walks like a dandy beside her? He thinks he's in the king's court. I don't think she fancies him much, poor chap." Lyceus laughs, nudging Gabrielle with his shoulder. "Xena is betrothed too," he offers, pausing to take in her reaction.

"Oh?" she says, betraying nothing.

"Yeah, to Mufias. The guy's a wet noodle if you took me to task for it. Nice enough though. Just, when I imagine my sister marrying him and settling down... and having children," he is interrupted by Gabrielle's laughter. He begins to laugh too. "Well, I guess you know. Xena was promised to Legas' boy by our father right before he died. That was the bastard's parting gift to her. We always knew, Toris and I, that Xena would figure something to get out of it. We know she will, she always does."

"What was your father like?" asks Gabrielle, her curiosity piqued.

Lyceus gives a noncommittal shrug. "I don't remember too much of him, I was pretty young when mother— when father died," says Lyceus. He didn't want Gabrielle to know that his mother killed his father to save his sister. Every family has their secrets. Gabrielle figured this out of course a while ago when the Fates had driven Xena mad and Ares unraveled the whole Orestean tragedy. She wouldn't let Lyceus know that, of course. Let some secrets stay buried. "I know that Xena and him didn't get along too well," he continues, "He was a hard man, very severe. He was the one who started Xena fighting though. Well, he started teaching Toris, but Xena had more of a flair for it, as you can imagine."

"I guess that's one gift he's given her, discipline," offers Gabrielle.

"Yeah," Lyceus agrees, "that and all our rugged good looks." His smile is lopsided, the same that Xena wears from time to time, the smile they both know is unrelentingly charming.

"So, what about you?" teases Gabrielle.

"What about me?"

"Do you have a betrothed?"

He colors a little. "No, I don't. Mother thinks it fair to let me choose a wife for myself."

"Choose well," Gabrielle chides. Lyceus grins, then diverts them from the path and walks left through a copse of trees. The trees open into a sandy clearing, to a wider part of the river that had flooded and pooled; the water moves lazily and the sun warms the flats of rocks. Toris and Alaethea are sitting on a fallen log, removing their boots. Dimas is skipping stones off to the right. Xena is balancing on the other end of the log, trying to walk up the embankment to its uprooted base. When she sees Gabrielle and Lyceus approach, she leaps the rest of the way up onto the stump. Her movement catches the attention of her friends and she grins wickedly in her brother's direction. With a readying crouch, Xena turns and launches herself off the stump, completing two perfectly formed backflips in the air, and lands squarely in front of Toris. Taking advantage of his surprise, she lands a soft punch in his gut, effectively knocking the wind of him.

"Constant vigilance," she says, grinning.

Alaethea, Lyceus, and Dimas crack up at the performance. Gabrielle gathers that taking the piss out of Toris is a regular game between them all. The object of ridicule straightens and shoves his sister purposefully, which Xena absorbs easily and steps back. She stoops to the forest floor and snatches up a couple sticks, brandishing them at Toris in a taunting manner. "Challenge ya," she says, a mischievous glint in her eye. Toris accepts with a feral smile, selecting two of his own staves from the fallen branches around him. Gabrielle has had enough.

"Please!" she calls, half-joking, half-exasperated, "No war games today, all right?" Xena's eyes dart to Gabrielle, then back to Toris. She sucks her lower lip between her teeth and quirks a conciliatory smile.

"Saved by the Bard," she says, kicking a toe into the rocky soil. She begins to clear away a small pit, wherein she drops the two sticks in her hand.

"Pity," says Alaethea, "I was looking forward to the gladiator duel." Toris chuckles, catching Xena's hint and begins to gather more refuse for the fire she is building.

Gabrielle thinks of the older Xena in Rome, on the floor of the Coliseum, her pennon waiving in the wind from her bronze armor. She feels a pain in her heart. Without her noticing, Xena had walked the few paces from her firepit and stopped in front of Gabrielle. She looks at her with faint apprehension.

"Gabrielle?" she questions. The blonde looks up, noting everyone readying the fire for a late morning breakfast. She catches Alaethea's eye behind Xena's shoulder and sees the malice there at their proximity. "All right?" she says, taking note of the pained expression on her friend's face.

"What?" Gabrielle startles, "Oh, yeah. I'm fine."

Xena rests her hand briefly on Gabrielle's forearm, drawing her closer and a little further away from the others. "About last night—" she begins, not meeting her eye.

"Oh, Xena, it's not that, I—" stutters Gabrielle.

"No, let me say I'm sorry. My behavior was, to use Lyceus' word, beastly. Get a little port in me and you know, all Hades breaks loose. I want you to know," she pauses, "I want you to know that I think you're a very smart person. Last night, I was jealous and angry and stupid. I can be that way sometimes. Someone like you can rough me up a little, huh? Maybe I need that. When I kissed you—"

"You don't need to apologize for that."

Xena laughs, quirks an eyebrow at her companion. "I wasn't going to. I was gonna say that I don't regret it. That I needed to do it. That I want to do it again."

Gabrielle feels her cheeks flame at the words and cannot seem to meet her friend's eye. Xena was certainly much more... intense, at this age. "We'll see," she manages to choke out, making a move to go help out with breakfast. Xena blocks her passage gently.

"I've been thinking about Potidaea. Got some thoughts on how we might be able to help your people too." With that, she releases her hold on the blonde and walks away; Gabrielle's heart walks away with her.

With a fire roaring, and two spitted chickens crackling in the flames, the six unlikely friends pick spots to lounge and chat aimlessly. They are all uneasy, they all recognize their attempt to salvage something. This day, they all sensed, was a day of joyful mourning. Today would be erected as a monument to their youth and innocence. For they all knew that dark times lay ahead, that some wicked force was brewing on the horizon. But right now, this is a precious moment before war, a time to be treasured. Let us have this peace, prays Gabrielle.

"Oh, I've a bit news for you all," chimes Alaethea. Xena turns from her task of rotating the spits and stoops to wrap two hands around the girl's neck.

"Say it and I'll wring your neck," she threatens. But the hold is playful and there is a jesting accidence to Xena's voice. Gabrielle watches Alaethea lean into the touch.

"You don't scare me, warrior princess," she laughs. The name startles Gabrielle. Is this who invented the title? How long has she had that nickname? Xena releases her hold, but hugs the young woman to her chest, bracing her fingers to tickle her sides.

"You know that I do," Xena says in a low, theatrical voice. "Say it and forfeit any chance of mercy." Alaethea relishes the attention, however, and makes a show of struggling. Finally, she manages to choke out her bit of news.

"There's a... there's a dance!" she squeals, batting Xena's hands away, "Tonight in the village hall." She straightens her dress, "I say we all go. It's bound to be a good time. Gods know  _some_ people need to lighten up." She looks back to Xena. Xena smirks and turns around to rotate the spits again. There is a brief moment of bated breath among them. Even Gabrielle feels the awkwardness between them like they are all some dreadful schoolchildren. Toris is the one who breaks the silence first.

"Alaethea, will you accept the honor of accompanying me to the romp tonight?" he says.

Xena, Dimas, and Lyceus all laugh uproariously.

"Don't choke, Toris," Xena snorts. Alaethea rolls her eyes, casts them briefly to Xena's turned back.

"Of course, you lug," she says to him. Toris smiles despite himself. It is Xena that catches the telling glint in Lyceus' eye before he walks over to Gabrielle. Taking to his leather-clad knee, and reaching out to take Gabrielle's delicate hand, he makes a showcase of touching his lips to her knuckles.

"Oh lady Gabrielle," he entreats, " _Some there are who say that the fairest thing seen on the black earth is an array of horsemen, some, men marching, some would say ships, but I say she whom one loves best, is the loveliest._ And so, loveliest," he addresses, " _whose lovely walk and the shining pallor of her face I would rather see before my eyes—_ " he pauses, smiling at the blonde woman, "do you know the rest?"

Gabrielle nods, embarrassment written all over her face. She can feel Xena's eyes on her. "... _her face I would rather see before my eyes than all Lydia's chariots in all their glory, armored for battle_ " she finishes.

Lyceus beams. "So, are you properly wooed?" 

"Reciting Sappho? I think so," Gabrielle concedes.

"Be my dancing partner tonight?" he says.

"Gladly."

Lyceus stands easily and winks at Toris. "That's how it's done, brother."

Gabrielle looks to Xena, expecting to see amusement on her face at her beloved brother's antics. But where there should have been amusement, there is the echo of resentment, of anger. Suddenly, their eyes meet and Gabrielle can read hurt in Xena's stare. She intends Gabrielle to see it, burning there. Gabrielle inclines her head, subtly hinting that it wasn't her fault. What was I supposed to say? her eyes seem to say. Sorry Lyceus, but your sister and I are soulmates catapulting through time and dimension so that I may save her from a future rampage of murder and destruction. That's the truth. But, she can't say that. Nevertheless, Xena looks at her with hurt and barely concealed anger. Tonight would be an interesting evening.


	6. Chapter 6

XI.

The morning was spent eating leisurely along the banks of the river, followed by a jump into the chilled waters. Xena had nearly drowned Toris and Lyceus twice by the time they all decided to head back to the village and complete some of their afternoon chores. Alaethea, it seemed, had decided it was better to keep her enemies close and had attached herself to the blonde woman who threatened her so. She had suggested she and Gabrielle go meander in the market for something to wear that evening. So, they had said goodbye to Xena and the boys near the Inn and continued on their way to market.

"I think gold is your color, Gabrielle," says Alaethea, holding up a garment which sparkles of gaudiness and poor taste.

"Maybe," says Gabrielle. "Look, I don't even have any dinars to spend. How about we look for something for you?"

"Tsk, tsk," chides Alaethea, fingering a beautiful indigo-dyed sarong, "I'll lend you the dinars. You're a bard, right?" Gabrielle nods. "Then tell some stories this evening. You'll pay me back."

"I couldn't," she protests.

"Could. Now, what do you think of this blue thing?" she asks, holding the sarong up to her grey eyes.

"I think it's perfect," says Gabrielle with sincerity. Perhaps Alaethea  _was_ trying to be friendly.

"Too blue," she dismisses, throwing it down. "I think you would look good in something green, to match your eyes." She sifts through the merchant's cart, trying to locate the particular hue.

"So you and Toris are to be married?" Gabrielle asks.

Alaethea looks quickly at her. "Who told you that?"

"Lyceus."

"Right. Well, he speaks the truth. Toris and I are to be married. Lyceus likes you, I can tell. He might be goofy, but both those boys are good matches. I tell you, there's something very special about that family. They are a bit unconventional to be sure, but good. They could be leaders of this town someday. They're destined for great things––" Gabrielle recognizes that Alaethea isn't really talking about Toris or Lyceus anymore. She can also see the pride in her eyes, how much faith she has in her friend.

"How long have you been in love with her?" Gabrielle decides to venture.

Alaethea fixes a sharp stare on the blonde. "What do you mean?" she whispers. Her eyes dart to the passing merchants and shoppers, the bustle of the market.

"You know who I mean." Gabrielle tries her softest, most sympathetic voice; she recognizes the battle being fought in the girl's eyes.  _Xena_  she mouths, allowing herself a nervous smile.

"Who isn't in love with her?" says Alaethea, trying to alleviate some of the anxiety she feels. "She's different. Everyone knows that. She's beautiful, she's talented. She has this energy that just sweeps you up, like the wind. You feel... alive when you're with her." The pretty grey eyes look down, beginning to pool with moisture. "Anyway, I would gladly accept Toris' hand if not because he is a good man who will make a good husband, then to remain close to his sister." Gabrielle allows herself to feel a sadness for this girl; she touches a small hand to Alaethea's shoulder.

"Maybe she feels the same?" she says, knowing that her words are lies. They both know them to be lies.

Alaethea laughs bitterly. "Don't be stupid, Gabrielle. She blows by me so indifferently, so like the wind. She used to love me though," Alaethea meets the blonde's eye, "Well, I don't know if it was love. I think there's only one person Xena loves, and that's Lyceus. They are very dedicated to each other. He's the only one she doesn't get so angry with. She's looks at you that way, too." Her words startle Gabrielle.

"What?"

"It takes a lot to earn Xena's respect. She respects you, I can see it in the way she tries to impress you. The gods know how you earned it in a day. But, you should feel honored, Gabrielle."

It is Gabrielle's turn to look away. She decides that she does indeed like this Alaethea. She is a reasonable, if not savvy young woman. Gabrielle also decides that maybe she is coming on too strongly to the young rebel in question, that perhaps she is wielding her knowledge of Xena's attachment to her with a bit too much power. Gabrielle had used Xena's instant attraction to her own advantage, and perhaps wrongly. She resolves herself to back down for a little bit, let Xena make decisions beyond the heat and influence of their bond. Tonight, at the dance, she would not allow Xena to approach her more intimately than a two-day friendship suggested.

"I do feel honored. But, we're just friends," says Gabrielle.

Alaethea shrugs and wipes conspicuously under her eyes. Then, she offers her companion some odd, but quite ominous wisdom on their mutual friend. "When Xena is challenged, she is relentless. She's a damn bloodhound until she gets her way. She'll hunt you down and tie you up and force you into submission. She's the same in love as in war. I'm just saying," Alaethea looks up, a tunic clutched in her hand, "let's see how long it remains a friendship." She hands the tunic to Gabrielle, who stands with her mouth slightly agape. Gabrielle looks down at the fabric in her hand; it is an emerald tunic, delicate lighter green stitching in the pattern of water lilies around its collar, ornately carved buttons in the shapes of hares, pheasants, partridges. The shades of green echo those in Gabrielle's eyes. "That's the one," Alaethea says, "Come, let us bargain for it."

Late in the afternoon—once Gabrielle had wandered off from her new friend with promises to see each other at the village hall—she claimed a light lunch in exchange for some chopping business in Cyrene's kitchen. Not a one of her three children were present. Gabrielle could only guess at what they were getting themselves into at the moment. The kitchen was, again, in an artful mess, Cyrene barking orders to those around her. Those at the Amphipolis Inn had volunteered to help cater the dance this evening.

"I swear!" says Cyrene, throwing up her hands, "I don't know why I do things for the good of the community. Bunch of lazy farmers, the lot of 'em!" Vernix comes up behind her, slipping an arm around her waist, and drops a kiss on her cheek.

"Because you're a good woman, Cyrene," he says. She swats him away playfully, meets Gabrielle's eye in conspiracy. Gabrielle is enjoying this younger Cyrene too. She seems much less bone-weary, much more in charge of her surroundings. Gabrielle admits that Xena's reign of terror must have had quite an aging effect on her mother; it must have made her trust less, trust less in her own ability to mother her children, her ability to recognize the evil in someone. She shudders at what the future brings for this strong woman, how the later years will test and try that strength.

"Gabrielle," says Cyrene, once more startling the young woman out of her thoughts.

"Yes?" she says, coming to attention.

"You're a dreamer too, just like my son," the elder woman looks out to the darkening sky, "You've done enough for me here. Why don't you go find Xena and freshen up for tonight, huh? Try and convince my daughter to wear a dress and not that potato sack she calls a shirt."

Gabrielle smiles and nods. "No promises there. See you in town, Cyrene," she says.

Cyrene smiles in turn, watching as her daughter's friend puts down her chopping knife and wipes her hands on her apron. Cyrene doesn't know what to think of this Gabrielle. Surely, she likes her just fine. Xena seems to like her; and she knows when Lyceus has a crush. The girl is quiet and humble, a fast-worker. But, after her display last night, it seems the young woman is hiding something: A wealth of wit and experience which seems to hint at something other in her. Cyrene doesn't trust someone with hidden motives, especially when concerning her children. However, for the sake of distraction and the busyness of her day, or for the sake of not wanting to tempt her daughter's temper, Cyrene has held her tongue and let it be. She is a smart woman; she will wait to see what happens.

 

Gabrielle makes her way through the courtyard, pausing at the springhouse to wash her hands and face. Then, she walks toward the cottage sitting idly in the fading light. She sees a candle lit in the window at the far end of the house. Inside, Gabrielle pauses at the closed bedroom door. She can hear movement inside, the glow of the candle shines under the door. She knocks quietly.

"Xena? It's me, Gabrielle."

She hears the sound of a grunt, the creaking of boots on the wood floor, the soft thud of the cedar chest closing. Suddenly, the door opens and Xena beckons the blonde woman inside. The room is only fractionally less organized than it was earlier. By the candlelight, Gabrielle can see that Xena is still in her black leather trousers and black boots. Yet, she had also chosen a sheer chemise, and over that, a floor-length dark blue cloak with a high-resting embroidered collar. Her hair is gathered into a loose plait, a strip of leather and a pearl-white ribbon woven through its black strands. She is ravenously beautiful in her attire, a loud echo of the beauty that would become her in later years. But one look in her eyes and Gabrielle sees that they lack the grace which belongs to the rest of her body. She is still angry.

"That yours?" Xena asks, gesturing to the tunic on the bed that Gabrielle had dropped there earlier before going to the kitchens.

"Yes. Alaethea was kind enough to lend me the dinars," she replies, then adds, "You look very beautiful."

Xena snorts, throwing the compliment away. "Put it on," she says.

Gabrielle is put on guard by that tone in her voice. But, she decides to ignore it and move toward the bed to grab up the tunic. She loosens the buckle of her belt, letting it drop away, then reaches for the tie on her apron. Suddenly, she feels another pair of hands on the tie. Xena makes quick work of the knot, then hastily pulls away the apron. Then, those fingers are beneath the edges of her chemise, sending a thrill of goosebumps over the bare skin of her back. Gabrielle reaches behind her and catches Xena's fingers, pushing them gently away.

"I can undress myself," she says.

Xena smirks and backs away, hands held up in mock-defense. "Fine," she says.

But, Gabrielle can still feel the intensity of Xena's eyes on her back. With quick motions, Gabrielle whips off her chemise, gathers the tunic, and drops it over her head. She fastens the carved buttons, then moves to fasten the two thin lengths of fabric that wrap around the back. She curses her struggle, unable to reach at the awkward angle, too proud to ask for Xena's assistance now. She hears a low chuckle behind her, then those cold hands once more on her own.

"Relax," says Xena, but once the knot is made, she does not remove her hands. Instead, Xena draws her arms around Gabrielle's waist and settles her chin at the crook of the woman's neck. Gabrielle cannot help the unconscious shiver of contentment. She cannot help but fall a little prey to her loved one's touch.

"Why did you say yes to my brother?" comes the low question, sending a chill up the pale skin of her neck.

"Oh, Xena. It's just a silly dance," says Gabrielle. She feels Xena's arms tighten around her.

"Sure it is. But, you–" she places a very tender kiss just behind the woman's ear, "are mine."

Perhaps judging by the sinking weight in her arms, or by the noticeable intake of breath in her partner, Xena decides to pounce. Her lips are suddenly hot on Gabrielle's neck, her fingers dislodge and part the curtain of blonde hair that keeps her from satiating herself on the scent and taste of the woman's skin. It takes an enormous feat of willpower for Gabrielle to, once again, push Xena's hands away–– this time a bit more roughly.

"Stop it!" she says, turning around. "Trying to conquer me is not going to gain my affections, Xena."

Xena smirks, her eyes almost the color of her cloak, shadowed by desire and quiet fury. "Then what doeth my lady!" she says, "How  _does_ one gain your affections? Reciting poetry?"

Gabrielle wants to wipe that condescending smirk off that beautiful face. "By caring enough to listen when I say no," she replies. The smirk does disappear, but it is replaced with a sneer.

"Fine," she relents, throwing herself down onto the bed. She crosses her hands behind her head and reclines, looking up at a tussled Gabrielle with innocent blue eyes. They study her with a feigned indifference and then her mouth quirks. "You look very beautiful in that green tunic. It be the very green of your eyes, mistress. Harken unto me, bright angel."

Gabrielle has to laugh at that, choosing to perch herself on the edge of the bed. She reaches out a hand and tousles the black fringe at Xena's brow.

"Thank you," she says, shaking her head. Xena catches her hand, but it is not an aggressive move. It is gentle, quite sincere.

"Save a dance for me, will ya?" she asks. A sudden shyness breaks through the veneer of her pride, and it nearly breaks Gabrielle's heart.

"Of course," she says, allowing Xena to kiss the back of her hand. A real smile takes hold of her face at that.

"Let's go join the party, then," she says. And so they do.

 

The village hall, where the people of Amphipolis gather for meetings and for worship of the gods, is thriving with excitement and music. It is a small structure, however, and the two-tiered loft is nearly buckling under the weight of all the people. Xena and Gabrielle enter the sweaty building and are immediately showered by noise and stomping feet and fiddles and people shouting at each other jovially over mugs of ale. A group of people are in a complex arrangement on the floor, stepping the steps to one of their native dances. A chorus of some of the women sing in harmony together a raucous drinking song, accompanying the sitars and bass fiddles, the panpipes and the sheepskin drums. The spirits are running high and the mood is infectious to those who are just arriving at the hall.

"Wow," breathes Gabrielle, "Amphipolis sure knows how to throw a party." Xena chuckles beside her, throwing an errant arm behind the woman's back to guide her through the masses. In the back of the hall, they had set up tables piled high with an impressive pit-roasted boar, garnished with crab apples and rosemary, baskets of biscuits, olives, hummus, cabbage of course and a giant barrel of summer ale. Cyrene had surely outdone herself.

"Xena!" Lyceus appears from the crowd, dressed handsomely in a grey tunic and trousers. Gabrielle then notices Alaethea and Toris nearby, filling their mugs at the barrel. Lyceus spots Gabrielle at his sister's side. "Gods on Olympus, Gabrielle, I barely recognized you!" he says, smiling, "You look absolutely breath-stealing".

The complimented woman bows slightly and smiles in return, conscious of Xena at her side. Things are getting a little complicated, she allows.

"And you make a fine  _young_ ," she stresses the word, "gentleman."

Lyceus, however, does not pick up on her intonation. "Can I fix you a plate?" he asks. 

"I'll get it myself, thanks Lyceus," Gabrielle smiles and ducks away while he's distracted. She proceeds to help herself to the lavish spread.

Xena nudges Alaethea's side with an elbow, bestowing a greeting kiss on her pale cheek. "How divine a presence you are," she says. Aleathea laughs.

"And you clean up well," she returns, smiling at her understatement.

"Tell me," says Xena, "how much did you pay for Gabrielle's outfit?"

Alaethea is miffed, "Not much. Why?"

"Just tell me."

"Three dinars." Suddenly in her palm, she feels pressed there three of the same coins.

Xena quirks an eyebrow. "I don't know what you're playing at," she threatens, "Stay away from Gabrielle."

"I'm not playing at anything, warrior princess," replies Alaethea, "And don't think I won't take your money."

"I'm serious, keep your fangs away from her," Xena intones, then quiets and steps away upon Gabrielle's return to the group.

Gabrielle balances a plate of food and two mugs of ale in her hands. She hands one to Lyceus and one to Xena. The young warrior has to laugh at the gesture; what a compromising move, she thinks.

"Hi, Alaethea. Hi, Toris," greets Gabrielle, "You two look quite the couple."

"See Toris, didn't I make a good fashion choice for our blonde friend?" says Alaethea, "I should dress Queens." She smirks at Xena. Gabrielle does not miss the exchange.

"See that boar there?" Lyceus entreats the two women, "That's Xena's prize."

"So that's what you were up to all afternoon," Gabrielle returns.

Xena shrugs. "Lyceus set a nice trap. I just got the killing arrow," she says. For some reason, it makes Gabrielle shiver.

"Hail great huntsmen," jests Alaethea.

"Shall we eat?" suggests Toris. Everyone agrees.

In a smattering of moments, they find themselves eating enthusiastically and idly chatting and listening to music and watching the dancers. Gabrielle was very much enjoying all the festivities, her cheeks flushed from the humidity of the hall and from the ale she had consumed.

"Xena!" A young man appears in front of them. He is pointy-faced and scrawny with a pompous affectation. "There you are!" he says, "I've been looking all over Zeus' green earth for you."

Xena raises her eyebrows. "Here I am," she says, already bored by the exchange.

"Hullo Mufias," says Lyceus.

The young man turns to him and smiles in greeting. "Lyceus, your sister is a sight ain't she?" he says. Lyceus laughs at the expression on said sister's face.

"What do you want, Mufias?" asks Xena.

Gabrielle takes a moment to study Xena's betrothed. She doesn't think Xena's father could have picked a more unlikely candidate for his daughter's husband. Surely, it must have been a business-related decision on his part to have wanted to join the two. Who knows? Maybe he even did it to spite his daughter, as her brother had suggested.

"To dance of course," he says, proffering his arm.

If it is possible, Xena's eyebrows rise even further into her hairline. "Sorry, I'm taken."

Mufias laughs, choosing to pretend that this is just a lover's teasing.

Still, Xena will not be mistaken. With some quick thinking, she slings an arm around Gabrielle's waist and moves to nuzzle her neck. "Remember that dance you promised me?" Xena mumbles into her ear. Gabrielle nods. Taking that for consent, she looks back at Mufias with an unfaltering innocence. "Maybe later on," she says. A stolen look at Mufias and Gabrielle almost feels bad for him as she is led away toward the dancefloor.

"Oh, you're good Xena," Gabrielle teases, walking beside her friend. "I come here as your brother's dance partner and you end up with the first dance. Very crafty."

"That was a totally innocent lie," she teases back. "You weren't going to just let me be taken away by Mufias, were you? I mean, here I am, an unaccompanied young girl, at the whim of all these unattached men!" she feints, hand fluttered to her brow. "Mufias is my—"

"Fiance," Gabrielle finishes, "I know."

"It's a rotten joke and everyone knows it." They reach the floor and are nearly swept apart by the rollicking dancers.

"I don't know this dance!" calls Gabrielle. She feels a pair of hands take hold of her waist, bringing their bodies closer together. Xena hastily positions Gabrielle's hand on her shoulder and relishes a blustering smile.

"Just follow my lead," she says. And then they're off, twirling and stomping to the rhythm of the music. As it turns out, Xena is a competent leader and soon the two women are moving easily along with the others in complete tandem. Never again will the older Xena get away with her excuses; she is a good dancer, and now Gabrielle knows it.

Once or twice, they pass by the dancing couples of Cyrene and Vernix, Toris and Alaethea, Lyceus and another of the village girls whom Gabrielle recognizes from the Inn last night. Here, pressed to Xena's side, she can feel their energy snapping like currents of lightning. This is something Gabrielle had not counted on in her thoughts of this time and the other. Here, it seems she and Xena share a very potent physical connection, unlike the one—or indeed, the one they disallowed—in their future life together. In this young Xena, there are no layers of distrust and betrayal and emotional guilt to work through in order to reach her. Here, Gabrielle finds Xena much more willing to disclose herself. In fact, she finds her hungering after love. The young warrior seems guided by her whims of desire, no conscience to deny herself any pleasure. This could either be a very good thing or one very detrimental to the future workings of their relationship. Gabrielle walks a very fine line, and she feels an overriding amount of guilt in succumbing to Xena's attentions so easily. So, it is with a sense of harried relief that she accepts Lyceus' offer to cut in.

Now in her brother's arms, Gabrielle allows herself to relax and enjoy the evening. After some time, the musicians decide that it is time for a break. She watches as they lay down their instruments, congratulating each other on a good set and make their way to the barrel of spirits. Gabrielle has lost sight of Xena; she had disappeared a few songs ago, perhaps for some fresh air. Suddenly, one of the elder farmers drags a chair to the center of the floor and stands upon it.

"Attention! Attention!" he somewhat drunkenly announces. Everyone's attention politely, if a little distractedly, turns to him. "I trust all here are having a grand night!" There is a collective cheer of consent. "So, while our resident musicians take a bit o' rest, let's have us some friendly competition. Ganix and I here have collected a small sum of dinars for prize offerin'." Beside him steps a gargantuan brute of a man. Lyceus informs Gabrielle that this is the blacksmith, and also the man that wins a lot of extra dinars arm wrestling in local taverns. "Any noble warrior willin' to challenge my man here takes home the prize and all the boastin' pride he needs!" the man continues. There is a holler from a few of the more drunk men in the hall. A small queue forms, a muscled sandy-haired farmer at its head. Lyceus, Toris, and Alaethea all join in the fever of competition and begin their jeering and shouting.

Ganix plows through the first two men, knocking both out in a series of three leaden punches. A dark-haired man lasts a bit longer, getting two sloppy punches to the large man's chest. But Ganix gets his arm around the man's neck and secures him in a chokehold. He takes him down with a few choice blows to his ribs. One more man tries his luck, only to also get pummelled to the ground. The announcer and it seems, Ganix's partner, hurries through the crowd and collects other bet coins from those that favor the blacksmith.

Suddenly, there is a loud warcry which pierces the air. The crowd parts to allow through a young rebel woman. Gabrielle slaps a hand against her forehead. Of course, she should have expected this.

"All right Ganix!" yells Xena, "Let's give you some real competition." She makes a show of unfastening the clasp of her cloak and letting it fall off her shoulders to reveal her sleeveless chemise. She throws the material to a nearby patron of the crowd. Ganix begins laughing a deep belly laugh.

"Cyrene!" he booms, "Can't ya control yer runts?" Gabrielle locates the mother in question, pressed over near the food tables. Her face holds an expression of defiance.

"Never could!" she yells back. Everyone laughs. Xena quirks an eyebrow, taking her place in the clearing in front of Ganix. Lyceus shakes his head.

"Aren't you going to stop her?" asks Gabrielle, turning an incredulous eye on her escort. He winks in her direction.

"She knows what she's doing," he replies. The blonde turns her attention back to the floor. Xena begins to circle her opponent, there is a wild look in her eyes. Her smile, Gabrielle recognizes, in the vicious smile she reserves for battle. Oh, Xena, what are you trying to prove?

"No pulling punches, Ganix," she spits. The large man grins, sinks into his fighting stance, his fists raised. They circle each other a few more times until Ganix gets comfortable. He throws a lazy punch in the direction of Xena's shoulder, which she blocks easily, knocking him hard around the side of the face. He grunts at the impact, not expecting the force of the hit. He sets his eyes, small and beady. He isn't playing anymore. Xena emits a taunting laugh.

He swings again with more force. Xena ducks under the arm and lands one punch quickly to the center of his chest, then another upside his chin. The man staggers; oh, he's angry now. The young warrior seems to relish that provocation, as she relaxes into a practiced stance. Then, they are a flurry of fists and kicks. Xena meets Ganix hit for hit, block for block and then Ganix uses the momentum of his weight to knock Xena off balance. He gets a walloping hit to the side of her face. It gets a loud  _oomph!_  from the crowd. Gabrielle and Lyceus hold their breath as Xena staggers back until she drops quickly to one knee and rolls under Ganix's errant swing. She gets a leg up, smashing it against the man's back and sending him flying forward into the crowd of people.

Those present catch the hulking figure, spin him and sending him flying back into Xena's waiting fist. The hit stuns him, and he jabs a fist forward, catching Xena right in the mouth. The woman recoils, backing up a couple paces. Her lip and nose begin to gush blood. And so, smearing a hand over her face to wipe away the blood, Xena decides she is no longer playing either. With an expert feint maneuver, she offsets Ganix's balance and attacks his other unguarded side. She lands a punch on his face. She lands another one. Another one. The thrust of this punch, however, sends her jolting forward with which force she wraps an arm around the back of his neck, and brings him down into a headlock. She knees him once, twice in the guts. Then, using the pad of his wide thigh, she steps up and throws herself upward, executing a hearty kick to his head and a backflip which she lands neatly a few feet away. The crowd goes nuts when Ganix topples to the ground.

The announcer looks mortified for a moment, then gets swept away by the excitement of the crowd. He hurries over to Xena's side and grabs her arm, thrusting it upward in victory.

"The winner!" he shouts, handing her the bag of coin. Everyone shouts and cheers and engulfs the man and Xena. They throw the young warrior onto their shoulders and carry her around in drunken exuberance. Huzzah! Huzzah! they shout.

Xena scans the crowd, the faces beneath her, seeking out one particular set of eyes. Upon finding those green eyes, she finds them empty of any congratulations. Gabrielle watches the people of Amphipolis hold up their young champion; she watches as Xena, bleeding and sweating, sits atop their shoulders and she sees how her chest swells with pride. Gabrielle finally understands that if that warrior is fire, then her people must be wood. She watches them ignite in a fever of adoration and loyalty. Don't do it, Xena, don't take advantage of it, she prays. But one look at the young woman and she knows that Xena understands the power she possesses now.

"Listen up!" she yells. The cheers quiet some. "Put me down, will ya?" she demands.

There are a few chuckles, a few cuffs on her shoulder as they lower their war goddess onto her feet.

"That show was nothing. You all know I'm a good fighter. I can teach any of those willing to learn how to defend themselves. Tomorrow at noon, I'll be holding a few drills in the southern pasture. I urge you to come if you're not all too hungover to make it. Now, I hate to put a damper on this party," she pauses, begins to pace between the village folk, "And it's important that we celebrate our prosperity. Dance, drink, sing, kiss each other in dark corners, for all I care. But, tomorrow, when we're sober, we must remember the threat of Cortese and his army. So come tomorrow and learn to fight. Prepare yourselves. Let us break discussion with one another," she looks to Gabrielle, "and see if we can all come up with a suggestion for ridding ourselves of these bastards. Tomorrow night, I rally to hold a town meeting. I expect everyone to show up with an opinion on the matter. Take up arms to defend our homes!" A loud roar of approval greets the words. There is much cheering and clapping, men shoving each other, rallying themselves. Women squeeze their husbands' arms and look with fond eyes upon them. Despite their inebriated haze, they all know what is at stake: Their hearth and home are erected on very unstable ground. A sense of resignation and duty sweeps over them and they hear Xena's words like those of a prophet. They look to her as they would their own salvation. She is strong, they think. Look at her confidence and skill. With her leading us, how can we fail?

Gabrielle knows she should say something. But, really, she can not work up the energy it would take to sway them all at this moment. It is actually something rather beautiful, she thinks. There is something so beautiful about their unity and partnership and their trust in Xena. For a moment, Gabrielle sees a flash of the leader that Xena will become–– she sees the steady control that takes hold in her eyes, the power, the passion, yet she can also see the fierce compassion and faith it takes to be a great leader of men. No, thinks Gabrielle, I will not invade this moment. It's not my place.

 

Much later, after all the festivities had died down, Gabrielle finds herself near the springhouse with Xena and Lyceus. They had said goodnight to Toris and Alaethea a few moments earlier and let them drift off into the summer night.

"And then  _wham!_ ," Lyceus re-enacts, "you got 'im right in the gut. Oh, Xena, that's was fantastic! You shoulda seen everyone's faces. They were slackjawed, simply gutted. Haha, a pun!"

"You're drunk," she rebuffs, shoving him playfully. He staggers backward, attempts to toss a loose punch in her direction. She knocks his hand away. Lyceus giggles and flops down onto the side of the trough in a haphazard seat. Xena shakes her head and disappears into the springhouse. Lyceus smiles wantonly up at Gabrielle.

"You're so beautiful," he says to her.

Gabrielle raises her eyebrows. "Aren't you a little young to be drinking so much ale?" she queries.

He shrugs it off, throwing up a hand. "Nah, s'okay. Been drinkin' since I was this high," he makes a small sizing gesture. Then, based on some drunken instinct, he stands and walks over to Gabrielle. He pauses a moment, studying the blonde woman with unfocused eyes. He then leans forward, attempting to press his lips against Gabrielle's. Her revenge is swift, however, and she evades the gesture, sending him toppling off balance and into the mud.

"Oh," she giggles, tries to straighten her smile, "I'm sorry, Lyceus." What is it with this family? she reels. They think they can just kiss you whenever they want! Then, perhaps saving her brother the embarrassment of a recovery, Xena swears from inside the springhouse.

"What is it?" calls Gabrielle, welcoming the distraction. Xena emerges from the wood structure, holding a piece of frayed rope.

"Someone cut the bucket off," she says, clearly pissed.

Gabrielle again has to stifle her giggles.

"Why'd sum'un do that?" slurs Lyceus, still in the mud.

Xena shakes her head, walking over to her brother. "Question is, why are you on the ground?" she says, offering an arm up.

Lyceus takes it and climbs sloppily to his feet.

"Ah, 'cus I tried ta kiss Gabrielle," he insists, not noticing the warning look from the blonde, "And I don't think she wanted me to, 'cus, allofasudden I'm on the ground! Such is a lover's heart," he sighs.

Xena looks quickly at Gabrielle; there is a bright fire in those eyes.

"You what?" she grinds out.

"Xena, honestly, it's fine. He's just had a bit too much to drink," says Gabrielle.

"Yeah, I'll say." Xena sets her jaw, then grabs a handful of her brother's tunic. She sets him up straight, making him meet her eyes. Their eyes are so similar. "You think this is how mother raised you?" 

"Xena––" says Gabrielle.

"I don't think she likes me," Lyceus says once more, his eyes still on the blonde.

"I said, is that how mother raised you to treat women? To drink too much and have your way with them? Who do you want to be, brother? A man like father or a real man? Huh?" Her hold on him has grown tighter. Lyceus should look more scared than he is, but his drunkenness is disorienting him just enough so that he appears to be listening to his sister. "What do you say?" she shakes him.

"No, Xena," he says, "I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to Gabrielle."

Lyceus looks pleadingly at the woman in question. Gabrielle tries to feed him a look of sympathy. "I'm sorry, Gabrielle. Please forgive me. I'm so sorry!" 

"Good," says Xena, releasing his shirt, "Now, can you make it to bed without pissing on yourself?"

Lyceus nods then wobbles his way across the courtyard up toward the cottage.

In his wake, Xena is breathing hard. She is trying to control her anger.

Gabrielle takes a few tentative steps forward. "You didn't have to be so harsh on him," she says slowly.

Xena turns to her, her lip and her nose still crusted over in dried blood.

"That wasn't harsh," she answers, "what I should have done is knocked him around a little. Kid doesn't have a father, no one to teach him how to be a man. He needs to learn."

"You lost your father, too, Xena," replies Gabrielle, softly.

That offsets the young warrior a little. "Truth. So I had to learn the hard way. I'm trying to teach Lyceus to be better than me though. He's got so much potential, so much smarts. He's gonna surpass us all."

That touches Gabrielle and she resolves herself not to point out the hypocrisy in Xena's dealings. She herself had accosted Gabrielle on more than one occasion, with far worse intentions than young Lyceus ever did.

"You both have a lot of potential," corrects Gabrielle.

Xena shakes her head, then winces. "Hades, that Ganix left a nasty memory on my head," she says, trying to break the tension between them.

Gabrielle has to smile— the older Xena had always used that same tactic against her in an argument. The moment she admitted to any pain, Gabrielle's annoyance or anger simply receded into her worrying over the warrior's well-being. The same is true now. She touches a gentle finger to the corner of Xena's mouth, inspecting the damage. Xena gives her a sidelong glance.

"You're going to have a shiner in the morning," she concedes, which brings her back to the problem at hand, "No bucket, huh?" she asks.

Xena shakes her head.

"Then let's go down to the river and get you cleaned up."

 

Down by the river, Gabrielle and Xena perch on its banks. The water flows quietly in the evening, gladly drinking all the moonlight in from the sky. What a beautiful day it had been, apart from the evening's ending. Reaching into the pocket of her tunic, Gabrielle produces a bit of rag that she had been using as a handkerchief. She leans over the water and lets it rinse off, lets it absorb some of nature's healing powers. She wrings out the rag, then beckons for Xena to lean closer to her. Xena consents, allowing Gabrielle to wash the blood off her face. She daps the rag over her cut lip, over her chin, the space between her nose and upper lip. Then, Gabrielle gets up and seems to be searching for something along the bank. Upon locating a flower in the darkness, she plucks a few and takes a seat next to the injured warrior once more. By pinching the flowerhead expertly off the stamen, she releases a sticky juice, which she spreads on her fingers. Before she can apply any to Xena's face, however, the warrior stops her.

"What's that?" she asks.

"Calendula sap," Gabrielle answers, "It's good for healing bruises and cuts."

"So you're a healer now too?" she says, settling back to let Gabrielle conduct her treatment.

"Not really," says Gabrielle, "I just picked up a few tips from a great healer that I know."

"Oh? Who's that?"

She smiles. "You, actually." She decides on the truth.

Xena looks at her a little warily. "In the dream?"

"Yes, in the dream."

"I wish I had dreams like you," she says, catching one of Gabrielle's hands.

"Hey! I'm not finished."

"Doesn't matter. Come with me," says Xena.

Xena gets up and helps Gabrielle stand. She leads them back a few paces near a large tree. She settles at its roots, moss growing thickly around the base and creating a natural cushion. Gabrielle settles next to her, her back finding a nice place between the roots. At once, Xena settles down and lays her head down in Gabrielle's lap. Gabrielle's fingers, of their own volition, begin running through her loose dark hair, untangling the plait that had been mused in the fight.

"Mmm," Xena purrs, "Your hands feel so nice."

When she does not receive an answer, she opens her eyes, looking up at the blonde's chin. She scoots down a little, angling herself to see Gabrielle's eyes. "What are you thinking about?" she asks.

"You, of course," admits Gabrielle. "Are you really going to run drills tomorrow?"

"I know you don't agree with my methods," Xena begins.

"No, no. I think it's important they learn to defend themselves."

"You do?"

"Sure, everyone should. But you also must teach them when it is proper to use their new skills."

"How about when they see the whites of Cortese's eyes?" Xena suggests.

"How about only when it's absolutely necessary," Gabrielle counters.

"Yeah, yeah. Peace and prudence and all that."

"I'm serious."

"So am I," says Xena, "Oh, and about Potidaea?"

Gabrielle stiffens and Xena can feel it. "Yes?"

"I was thinking of sending a few riders to Meride and your town, telling them the information we have. It's a safe bet that they've had all the warnings we had, but you can never be too careful. I'll ask the riders to assess the manpower and resources and report back to me, see if we can't ally all the villages on Cortese's warpath." Xena finishes, hopeful.

Gabrielle is silent.

"What do you think?"

"I think it's a good plan for now," says Gabrielle.

"Good plan," she repeats, chuckling, "It's genius!'

"Careful now, the raiders will stumble over your ego," teases Gabrielle.

Xena laughs deeply.

"At least they'll fall," she says, sitting up from the warm lap. She turns to her companion and is about to say something else when her words suddenly leave her. Her eyes change, lighten almost to a translucent blue. Gabrielle is suddenly thankful for the cover of darkness that hides her blush. Xena lifts a reverent hand up to touch the blonde woman's cheek. The night around them is in a hush.

"By the gods, you're beautiful," says Xena.

Gabrielle ducks from the compliment. "Oh, no. Your brother already tried that line."

"Bet he meant it as much I do," she replies. She presses forward a little bit, trying to make out all Gabrielle's features in the moonlight. "Please, can I kiss you?"

Gabrielle heaves a labored breath, unwilling to deny this woman anything. She knows she must, however.

"On the cheek," she says.

Xena smiles, not betraying her disappointment, then leans up, reveling in their closeness, in her desire for this woman. She presses her lips slowly, fully onto the warmth of Gabrielle's cheek. She lingers for a moment, wrapping a long-fingered hand around the blonde woman's calf. Moving away subtly, Xena captures Gabrielle's eyes. Those eyes beg for more. Gabrielle smiles and swats at Xena's shoulder. The spell is broken.

"Come on, we should get back," she says.

But, Xena stretches out lengthwise on the soft ground beneath the tree. "Let's lie here for a while," she offers, "I don't like being cooped up all the time."

With that, Gabrielle settles on the ground beside her friend. She looks up at the stars between the trees, marking the constellation that the older Xena had dubbed a dipping spoon. She closes her eyes and is soon asleep. The young warrior soon follows.


	7. Chapter 7

XII.

 

A pre-dawn mist settles over the hills, down in the valley of Amphipolis. It clings to the blades of grass, on the closed petals of the nightshade, the open petals of lilies and crocuses, the green unfurling leaves. The mist envelopes and rouses two women who lay asleep beneath a towering poplar tree. The dark-haired young woman is the first to show signs of consciousness; she slowly raises her tangled head and takes a brief survey of her surroundings. Those eyes then locate the blonde woman beside her, chest still rising and falling evenly, still breathing softly in sleep. Xena looks up to the sky, noting the queer bruised color. It will rain, she decides. Damn. That will definitely cut the turnout in half for today's drilling. She senses the rain fast approaching, gathering into itself, gathering its strength. She thinks of herself as the storm. First things first though, she must wake Gabrielle and get them inside before the clouds begin to relent their fill.

She glances down once more to the sleeping woman. Settling back down onto the damp moss, Xena wonders about Gabrielle's dreams. Is she dreaming of me? Will my older self dance with her through the fogged memories of her mind, as I danced with her through the halls of Amphipolis? Xena shakes her head at her own sentimental foolishness. She need not romanticize Gabrielle's appearance in her life any more than she already has. What a mystery, what a mystery! Xena hates being uninformed; she despises ignorance. From a very young age, she had been a veritable scholar of many things: the war arts, philosophy, logic, strategy, cartography, alchemy, architecture, navigation, and astrology, even sewing and basketry. No amount of information was uncherished in her mind. She learned and collected and hoarded her knowledge like the Sumerians did their treasure. Someday, all this accumulated skill would pay off. She feels a crashing wave of resolve and motivation seize over her–– I will make use of my skill against Cortese and all the scum like him. I will learn more, stretch further, make myself better.

Gabrielle shifts next to her, trying to find a more comfortable nook between the tree roots. The movement elicits a sigh from Xena as her desire rushes back to her, consuming her legs, her hips, the cavity in her chest, up through her shoulders–– she feels the ache expressly in what poets call the heart. Xena doesn't know where that particular analogy came from, for it isn't her heart that clenches. No, her heart is strong muscle, virile, pumping blood through her veins. It is her lungs that hurt. Yes, her lungs. It hurts to breathe when she looks at Gabrielle. Briefly, it occurs to her to take advantage of the woman's unconscious state. I could scare her, she thinks, sweep her up in my arms and jump right into the river. And the water would rush over us and perhaps there we could stay forever, like creatures of the lake, like the fish, hidden and removed from all the terrors of this world.

Faintly, she traces the tip of a finger over the line of Gabrielle's shoulder. The touch goes unnoticed. She moves her hand like a feather over the woman's ribcage, down the dip of her stomach, up the swell of her hips. Gabrielle twitches, still not awake. Xena allows her fingers to rest on the thin material of the woman's tunic, feeling the warmth of her skin emanating through underneath. Then, Xena suffers the torture of moving beneath the hem of the tunic and at last the silky taught skin of Gabrielle's abdomen. Xena traces the line of her trousers, stretched loosely over the width of her pelvis. Gabrielle stirs at the touch, pushing herself back into the warmth of the body behind her. Xena smiles at her reaction and very tentatively, she rests her chin once more at the crook of the woman's neck. Her lips kiss a straight line up the column, pausing near her ear.

"Gabrielle," she whispers. The blonde woman groans, once more trying to get those arms to wrap more tightly around her, or indeed for that torturing hand under her shirt to travel south and relieve some of the growing tension. Half-unconscious, she covers that hand with her own, attempting to guide it closer to the area of her greatest need. Xena is hard-pressed not to allow her hand to be led astray. However, if she is ever to have Gabrielle, she wants them both to be conscious for it.

"Gabrielle," she whispers again, stilling the blonde's subtly rocking hips. "Wake up, wake up now."

"Hmm?" she mumbles, rousing slightly.

"It's going to rain on us," says Xena.

Gabrielle's eyes flutter open and she finally realizes where she is and the rather compromising position she had awoken into. She turns briefly in Xena's arms, meeting those blue pools in the semi-darkness.

"What did you say?" she asks, sleep making her voice low and smoky.

"I said, it's going to rain. Better get up or you won't be the only wet thing out here." It takes a moment for her to catch Xena's meaning, but once she does, she rolls away and is quickly on her feet.

"Beast," she says.

"No," says Xena, also standing, "You would recognize the beast."

 

Later that day, Gabrielle finds herself once more in the kitchen of the Amphipolis Inn. Cyrene had decided to take advantage of her daughter's friend's competence in cooking. Beneath the blonde's hands is a flatbread dough, which she works through with strong, determined hands. Xena had disappeared earlier that morning to go over her preparation for the afternoon's drill session. Outside, the rain comes down in torrents, in sheets that blanket the Grecian countryside. At the counter next to Gabrielle, stands Aldelphe, one of the hired help, also kneading dough.

"Poor weather, huh?" says Adelphe, attempting to make conversation with the Inn's new hire.

"Sure is," says Gabrielle, distracted.

"Wish it'd be a clear day for Cyrene's girl," she says.

Gabrielle looks up at the rather homely woman beside her. "Why do you say that?"

" 'Cus of her training today," says Adelphe.

"Oh, yeah. What do you think of her efforts?" Gabrielle feels a sense of foreboding when she thinks of the town meeting tonight.

"Think?" asks Adelphe, revealing a crooked-toothed smile. "Ain't no one asked me that before. You really wanna know?"

"Sure," says Gabrielle, ceasing her activities to focus her attention on the wide freckled face of her co-worker.

"I think that girl got a screw loose. But, she talk of important things, don't she? I mean, if that warlord is really on his way to come slaughter us, then I say we stick up for ourselves. Xena's crazy, ain't no one who thinks otherwise. That girl been crazy her whole life, specially from that dead father of hers. He's the one who turned her into the crazy thing she is. But, Xena's smart, unlike him. Anyway, I think it a good thing that she stir up the men 'round here. They be lazy fools most o' the time. Xena gives them purpose. What I'm tryin' to say is, if I been born a man, I would be in that there field with a sword in my hand. I'm a scared too, we all are."

Gabrielle muses over Adelphe's words. There is a very painful truth there. She realizes how much her young warrior friend is playing on the fear and pride of people like Adelphe. Gabrielle knows it is an unconscious manipulation on Xena's part. In fact, she thinks Xena feels much the same thing as Adelphe and the rest of Amphipolis. It's just that Xena is cursed with conviction and intellect, so it is she who must deal most seriously and closely with the abstract threat. Gabrielle, putting herself and her particular future-dealt intuition aside, she herself feels pride in her friend's ability to shoulder the responsibility at such a young age. She knows that this rallying and uprising is important, for it will shape Xena's personality and her place in the world. If she can just sift carefully for that seed that germinated the bloom of anger in Xena. If she can just save Potidaea and Amphipolis and Meride and her friend's dignity, then it will all be worth it. Suddenly, it occurs to Gabrielle what that seed is—

It should have been obvious, in all the talk the older Xena had done about her youth and all the events that proceeded her defeat of Cortese and her eventual sliding off into warlord haze: Lyceus. If Lyceus hadn't died in that first battle, Xena wouldn't have been infected with the vengeance and bloodlust that had overcome her after his death. Cyrene wouldn't have driven her daughter away from home in her grief, and Toris would never have disowned his sister. Lyceus, that's whom she must save. A wave of relief washes over her. I will save Lyceus, she thinks.

 

The smell is overpowering: wet sheep's wool. Its odor forces Xena to remove her cloak and face the chill of the rain on her bare skin. She is dressed in her usual attire, black leather vest, black pants. From her belt, however, is slung an impressive leather scabbard which houses a heavy iron sword. The sword once belonged to her father, but Xena chooses to disregard its previous service. Now, at her hip, she relishes its empowerment. Noon had come and gone and still, here she stands in the southern pasture, waiting for the villagers to come. Beside her stands an equally as drenched Lyceus. He had been quiet throughout the morning, which led his sister to believe that he remembered his embarrassing actions from the night previous.

"They'll come," he says, wiping the rain away from his face.

"They've got to." Xena grunts in response, adjusting the blade at her hip. She looks at her younger brother, who is starting to resemble a wet rat in the rain. How small he looks with his hair uncurled, she thinks. 

"Lyceus," she says.

"Yes?" 

"How do you know when you're in love?"

He looks to her with clear blue eyes, parting the curtain of rain that descends upon them. "What?" he says, cracking a teasing smile.

"Go on, what do the poets say?" Xena is serious.

Lyceus shakes his head, forming no idea as to why his normally stoic sister would ask such a question. Nevertheless, he answers in the truest way he knows.

"They say that love is war. That a man must battle himself in the face of it," he replies. Xena nods, understanding this analogy better than any other. Then, near the southern fence, she spots a few men trekking toward them. She glances around and discovers many men walking through the rain to where they stand. At last, she thinks. Now we may begin.

 

Cyrene is not a happy woman. First, someone cuts the rope of her well bucket, now she finds that nobody had thought to prepare the stew for lunch without her present to suggest it. She stands near the springhouse, annoyed and ready to retire herself to her home. It's just not worth it, no one will even visit the Inn today. She considers retreating to Vernix's hut outside of town and passing the dreary day with a bottle of wine and some appreciative company. But before she can abandon all, she spots Necreos, the magistrate of Amphipolis, trudging toward her through the alley.

"Ho! Cyrene," he calls.

"Necreos," she replies.

"Fine day," he says, approaching the tavern-owner.

"Don't start lying now," says Cyrene.

Necreos chuckles. "Course not. The gods weep upon us."

"What can I do you for, Necreos?"

"Well, Cyrene, I've been looking for that daughter of yours."

"Xena?" smirks Cyrene. Well, who isn't looking for my daughter today?

"The same," says Necreos, cupping a hand over his brow to shield his eyes from the rain. Cyrene glances over through the back door of the kitchen and sees Gabrielle steadily chopping up the heads of cabbage. Cyrene gently takes hold of the magistrate's elbow and guides him into the kitchen of her inn.

"Gabrielle!" she calls, causing the young blonde woman to look up. "This here is Necreos, the magistrate, and he's looking for my daughter. Any chance you might be able to lead him to her?"

The blonde woman looks up and studies the wizened man by Cyrene's side.

"Sure," she says, setting down her knife.

The rain is relentless as the magistrate and Gabrielle make their way up the path, past the big oak tree. The blonde woman feels a certain amount of guilt in leading this man to her friend. She can sense that he means no good by his visit to the young rebel. Cresting the hill, they are able to see the legion gathered in the valley. The men of Amphipolis are set in mathematical lines, each with a sword or a stave, which they thrust in unison to a commanding voice.

"Attack!" the voice calls over the storm. "Brace! Block! Ready! Attack!"

Necreos stands next to his guide, surveying the scene before him. His own people drill like the legions of Rome, formed into unified movements of deadly precision. The vision would be inspiring to any general, but this particular leader winces at the sight.

"Xena!" he calls.

Gabrielle watches as he descends of his own volition down into the fray. She sees the dark-haired young warrior look up at the voice, the answering grimace at the magistrate's advance.

"Magistrate," she calls back, glancing to Gabrielle at his side. "At ease!" she advises her soldiers. In a moment, they all return to the farmers they once were, dropping down into the grass to rest their weary, soaked bodies.

"Xena, what in Hades do you think you are doing?" says Necreos, upon finding the warrior's side.

Xena looks to him as if she was expecting his arrival. Her black hair is plastered to her cheeks, her leathers rendered darker by the rain pouring down.

"What do you mean, Magistrate?" she says.

The man wipes a hand over his wrinkled brow. "These are farmers, not soldiers!" 

"And what are you?" she asks, smirking. Xena never did have any respect for authority.

"The governor of these people. Listen, I've heard about your plans for the evening: Holding a town meeting without the approval of the elders! It's tactless, Xena."

"Tactless? How so?"

"You know Amphipolis will never mobilize without the discussion and consensus of the elders," says Necreos. Xena takes a fleeting look around her at the gathered townsfolk.

"Doesn't seem like it," she says, quirking her mouth in that boisterous way she has.

"I want you to call it off."

"Why should I?"

"Because we need to discuss it," says the magistrate, trying to secure the sympathy of one of the farmers. They all avoid his eye, however, choosing to take swallows of water from wineskins and stretch their aching muscles instead.

"There isn't time for discussion, Necreos," she says, "Cortese will be here before you blink an eye. I'd rather we act than talk."

"Even so, Xena, you acted without the permission of your elders and that is a crime."

"So what? You gonna throw me in prison?" taunts Xena.

Gabrielle shakes her head, trying to impart wisdom in her stare.

"Perhaps, you might want to ask what the men think," suggests Gabrielle, "After all, aren't they the body you represent?". The magistrate looks in the blonde's direction, seemingly miffed by the youthful defiance he has already been subjected to this day.

"Very well," he relents, turning to the resting crowd of people young and old. "Men of Amphipolis, hear me!" Everyone's attention turns to the magistrate. "Be it the will of the people that this young woman lead you all in the act of war? That she call a hearing without the presence of the elders?"

A cheer rises unanimously from their parched throats. In their chests is a beating heart which thuds for their homeland. If this overzealous young woman had stirred them to action, by the Gods they would deliver in their stirring. Gabrielle marks that conviction, not as a point in her failing, but as an indicator of the strength and resignation to fight this Cortese. She marvels at Xena's handiwork.

"Seems your people are in accordance, Magistrate," says Xena. She turns from the elder man, barely registering the rain that drips down her face. "See you in the hall tonight," she dismisses.

Necreos can do nothing but clench his jaw.

"We are not a violent people, Xena," he says, then turns and walks back up the hill toward the path. Gabrielle takes in the magistrate's words. Had Xena herself delivered violence unto her people? She doesn't think so. Every man and woman has violence in them; each one can be stirred to take blood. These are only the ones who intend upon it through the lens of virtue and sacrifice. The lens does not color war in any more favorable a hue for Gabrielle. Lyceus appears at her side, flashing an embarrassed smile. Gabrielle has no time to tend his wounded ego.

"Listen up!" shouts Xena over the storm. The village men all turn an ear to their standing leader. "I think we've done enough for today. You all are progressing very well. Now, I need two volunteers who are willing to brave this storm and ride with haste ahead to Meride and Potidaea."

Silence greets her at first, then Dimas steps forward, damp brown hair obscuring his brown eyes.

"Aye! Xena," he says. The young leader smiles on her friend.

"Another," she says. From the back of the group, Ganix, the beaten heathen from last night raises a fist in solidarity.

"Aye! At your service," he promises, pumping his fist once more. Gabrielle has to wonder at that: One would think the man's pride would keep him from Xena's side. Alas, it seems his beating only conjured feelings of loyalty for the young warrior woman.

"Good," Xena says evenly. "The rest of you, go home. I expect to see all of you in the hall this evening." With that, the village folk scatter in the direction of their respective homes for most of them live in the outskirts of town, on their own parcels of rich pasture. Ganix and Dimas approach their leader.

"What is it you want us to do?" asks Dimas. Xena squints her eyes, looking into the distance.

"Dimas, I want you to go to Potidaea and tell them of Cortese's advance. Find out how many men are willing to take up arms, how many horses they have, how many weapons they have at their disposal. See also what their crop is like, if they've been as fortuitous as we have. Ask one of their leaders to ride to Amphipolis at the next quarter moon for a meeting. Ganix, I'd like you to do the same at Meride," says Xena. The two men nod, give an informal salute and walk off in the direction of their duty. Xena turns to Lyceus and Gabrielle with a wary expression. Her brother slaps an arm on the side of her shoulder.

"Gods, Xena," he says, "You're a regular Hector."

Xena brushes him aside, choosing to focus on his blonde compatriot. "What do you think of Necreos' words?" she asks.

Gabrielle has to pause at that, surprised by Xena's esteem of her opinion. "I think he has a point," she replies.

Xena nods.

"I think his point will come to a head at the meeting tonight, though," says Gabrielle.

"Yes," says Xena.

"You can't defeat the world by your own will, Xena," says Gabrielle, "Your people deserve the right to decide their own fate."

"Yes," she says again. Slinging an arm around Lyceus' shoulders, she urges them forward. "Let's go warm up and eat a good meal."

 

In the family cottage near the Inn, Xena and Gabrielle dry themselves in the living room. Lyceus had elected to haul in some more wood from the pile out back to stoke the fire. Xena hands a piece of dry cloth to her friend, hanging another of the same over her neck. She stoops by the dying hearth fire, reaching out her hands to try and warm them.

"It feels like autumn," she says.

"Soon it will be," Gabrielle replies.

"Cortese will be here before then."

"Maybe so."

"Oh, Gabrielle. How do I know I'm doing the right thing?" she asks, looking over her shoulder at her friend. Gabrielle takes a seat on the cool flagstone of the hearth; she lays a gentle hand on Xena's shoulder.

"One never does."

Xena snorts, "You seem to."

"Only because I've lived longer, made more mistakes."

"Yeah, right. You claim to know darkness, Gabrielle. But have you ever seen it? Felt it inside you?" Xena's words strike her like a slap to the face. Her mind reels forward in a trajectory toward Brittainia, her pregnant belly, Hope growing inside her. She thinks of Dahak and his fire twisting around her limp body. She thinks of the river and of the basket in which she placed her daughter; the river as it carried her child away. She thinks of Xena's face when they finally met again and she thinks of the lie she told to the warrior. She thinks of returning to her own time, returning to the chaos that her life had been, returning to the prospect of Xena uncovering her lie and the damage that it would inevitably do. She thinks of herself alone in that world, without the warrior by her side.

"Yes," she says, tears in her eyes.

Xena glances to her friend, noticing the emotion she had stirred. "I don't mean to cause you pain."

At that, Gabrielle allows a few quiet shuddering sobs to wrack through her. Xena knits her brow together, wondering what on earth had caused such a reaction. But she doesn't have time to puzzle it out, because she knows she must comfort that woman in her pain, this woman whom she loves. Three days, Xena muses. Three days it took for me to love her. And now, it is the greatest burden she has ever felt––greater than that of saving her village from marauders––this bearing witness to her loved one's pain. She feels powerless, and she hates that feeling. Carefully, she gathers Gabrielle into her arms and makes shushing noises in her ear. "What is it?" she asks, "What's wrong?".

Gabrielle hiccoughs, her face buried in Xena's wet leather vest. "It..." she tries, "It's nothing I can explain."

"Try," says Xena.

"My dream, it––" but she is cut off.

Lyceus chooses that moment to walk in through the front door, logs piled high in his arms. He shivers, stomping his feet on the rug in the foyer.

"Dunno if these'll burn, Xe, all the wood is pretty wet," says Lyceus, walking into the living room. Upon seeing his sister and the woman of his affection locked in a tight embrace, Lyceus pauses. "What's wrong?" he asks.

Gabrielle looks up from Xena's arms, revealing her reddened face.

"What's going on?" he asks again, more forcefully.

"Nothing," says Xena, getting up from the hearth.

"Did you hurt her?" he says.

Xena frowns, holding up her hands. "Course not," she says.

But Lyceus is not convinced. He drops down to help Gabrielle stand, fitting a bracing arm around the small of her back. He looks at her tear-stained face, then cast an angry look to his sister.

Xena figures her brother is feeling quite the same protective emotions that she herself had felt only a moment ago.

"What did you do to her?" he asks again, rounding on her.

"Nothing, we were having a conversation and then––"

"If you touched her, I swear," he starts.

"Hold on a minute!" says Xena, backing up, "Just because she's crying, you assume I did something to make her?"

"I know that's exactly something you would do!"

"Lyceus––" begins Gabrielle, trying once more to intervene between the two warring siblings.

"Oh really?" Xena's eyes flash; she advances on her brother.

"Yeah, you know Xena, this whole Cortese thing really has you on edge lately. You've been short and mean and even more moody than usual, and you've been taking it out on all of us. And now you've done the same to Gabrielle. You're so angry all the time. You're so damn angry! Look how it's upset her! I'm telling you, you've got to stop!"

"Yeah? Who's gonna stop me?" says Xena, coming chest to chest with Lyceus.

"Me," he answers.

"Stop it, both of you!" yells Gabrielle.

They ignore her. Lyceus takes a swing at Xena, which his sister catches and vaults away. They are both seething mad, their breaths coming in short gasps, their eyes turning equally a darker shade of blue. Lyceus bares his teeth and launches himself into his sister's body, knocking her over onto the floor. Xena rebounds instantly, flipping up onto her feet.

"You think you're some hotshot, huh!" yells Lyceus, hitting her on the shoulder, "You think you can tell everyone what to do!" He throws another punch. It occurs to Gabrielle that Xena is taking the utter defensive in this fight. Lyceus provides many openings for her to drop him in two hits, but she does not take them. Instead, she chooses to block his hits, allowing him to vent his frustration. Then, Lyceus gets a good solid punch to the side of his sister's face, right where it might have been bruised from her fight with Ganix last night. Her lip begins to bleed again and Gabrielle recognizes that look in her eye. She steps quickly in between them, sweeping a leg underneath Lyceus to drop him to the floor and an arm over Xena's chest to prevent her from retaliating further.

"Cut. It. Out." says Gabrielle, her voice at a deadly octave. "Lyceus, Xena did not do anything to offend me. I was upset by something else entirely. But, you know what won't do?" Lyceus picks himself up from the floor, throwing a look to his sister. "What won't do is fighting between family. Family needs to stick together in troubled times. How can you expect to defeat Cortese, otherwise? Now, I think you would both benefit from  _talking_  to one another. Use your words and not your fists, for the Gods' sake!"

At that moment, Toris opens the front door, his arms also laden with logs. He looks to his brother and sister, both breathing heavily and scowling at one another. Gabrielle has a hand still clenched around the material of Xena's vest. Toris raises his eyebrows.

"Whoa," he says, "What's going on here?".

"Nothing," says Xena, ripping herself away from Gabrielle's hold. She touches a hand distractedly to her bruised cheek, then looks to her younger brother once more. "Nice shot," she says. For some unfathomable reason, Lyceus smiles. Xena cuffs him on the shoulder, returning his smile. Toris shakes his head and unburdens himself of the extra logs he had unknowingly carried inside.

Gabrielle is left standing by herself, knowing not what to say or what to do. She huffs audibly. 

"You ever had brothers?" Xena asks her, as Lyceus helps heap on a few logs to coax the fire into life.

"No, just a sister," she replies.

"Figures," says Xena, once more stooping to warm herself by the growing flames. Cyrene enters a moment later, Vernix in tow with a large pot of soup. The matriarch throws a few glances to her children, then motions her boyfriend to put the soup on the dining table.

"Who's hungry?" asks Cyrene.

Everyone raises their hand.


	8. Chapter 8

 

XIII.

Her stomach full, and her clothing dried, Gabrielle takes a seat in a birchwood chair by the fire. In her lap, she cradles a piece of parchment and a feather quill both borrowed from Lyceus. The family had disappeared shortly after finishing their meal. Xena, Toris, and Lyceus had gone ahead to the village hall to arrange some of the seating and to prepare for that evening's meeting. Gabrielle had promised to meet them in a candlemark or so after she had finished some writing.

At an impasse in her mind, where thoughts and feelings collide in chaos, the young bard had always taken to writing in order to sort through the chaos, to come to some kind of insight. Now, with the very future of Greece and most of the Known World in her small hands, she places pen to parchment. She begins by recounting that night in Brittainia and her careless prayer to travel back in time; she writes of her awakening in the field; she writes of the gathering storm, of warlords and drilling farmers; she writes of Lyceus and Toris and Alaethea and Ganix and Dimas; she writes of Xena, she writes of love. Suddenly, the door blows open, ushering in the roar and scent of the rain.

Cyrene steps inside, unburdened by the company of Vernix. The innkeeper registers Gabrielle by the fire, sharing a warm smile that combats the chill which had escaped inside.

"I'd have thought you'd be at the hall by now, with Xena," says Cyrene, removing her cape and draping it over a hook secured on the back of the front door. She moves into the living room, also settling herself down into a chair opposite the blonde.

"I'll be on my way in a moment," replies Gabrielle.

Cyrene eyes the hastily rolled parchment in her lap.

"Writing stories?" she asks.

"In a manner of speaking."

"You're a very secretive girl, aren't you Gabrielle?" says Cyrene, causing a flood of anxiety to pool in the bard's chest.

"All people have secrets," she replies.

Cyrene nods, then casts her eyes to the slow-burning flames in the hearth. She seems to be lost in a memory for a moment.

"True," she says, then adds, "I like you Gabrielle. There's something very gentle about your spirit. But I know you're hiding something," Cyrene holds up a hand at Gabrielle's protest, "I'm not asking you to tell me what it is. But, I swear upon every rock on Olympus, if your secret harms my daughter, I will skin you alive."

"I... I promise," stutters Gabrielle, "I will never hurt her."

"You better not," says Cyrene, deadly serious. "Xena's special. Sure, she's a handful. But she's also special. She will do great things."

"She will, you're right. Listen Cyrene, I want you to know that I only want to do good by her. I love her. I love your family, you all have been so welcoming. And I only want to help this town defend itself against Cortese... and any other dangers that may come its way."

"Xena says you're a sharp one. Gods willing, I hope your village and your family may be saved as well." Cyrene's face softens, she bestows a fleeting smile in the bard's direction.

Gabrielle nearly winces at the words. "There's been an opening in one of the rooms at the Inn. I want you to take it."

"That's awfully kind of you, but I have no coin––" begins Gabrielle.

"No matter. Your help in the kitchen is much-needed. Tomorrow night, however, I'm sure my clientele would love to hear a few stories from a bard."

Gabrielle smiles at that. "I'd be honored," she says.

 

Cyrene and Gabrielle, an understanding now between them, make their way through the rain toward the village hall. Their silence is companionable and upon arriving at the hall, they exchange a look between them at what Cyrene's children had done with the place. Gone were the tables and decorations from last night, and replaced with low wooden benches sitting in parallel rows. At the head of the rows stands Xena, like the priestess of a temple, except with a rather large sword attached at her hip. Beside her stands Lyceus, equally as impassive. Toris has taken a seat among his neighbors on the pews. Xena spots Gabrielle by the door and beckons her over with a brief wave.

"Xena?" she says, once at the woman's side.

"I want you up here with me," she says, "I can't do this alone."

Lyceus, hearing that, glances sharply to his sister. Aside from his own support in Xena's schemes, he thinks how odd it is to hear his sister admit any kind of weakness. She had never succinctly bent to any vision but her own.

"You're perfectly capable," replies Gabrielle, nevertheless smiling, "But, I'll be here."

At that, Xena steps forward and lifts her hands in the air. The people still chatting and milling about, locate a seat for themselves and quiet down.

"Shall we begin?" she calls out over her congregation, "It seems the honored Elders and Magistrate are present to tell me if I skip over any necessary formalities." She looks to Necreos and the three other greying men; her words were meant as a taunt, but they seem to satisfy them nonetheless. "No sense bothering with a careful speech. You all know why you're here, to discuss the matter of Cortese and his army. Let us put it to a vote: Those in favor of bearing arms, raise your hand––"

"Hold on," Gabrielle steps up beside Xena, laying a hand on her arm. "Why don't you ask the people their thoughts first?"

Xena bites her lip, betraying her nervousness and nods. "Yeah, all right. If anyone has thoughts, speak in turn."

"I certainly have thoughts," says Necreos.

"That's debatable," mutters Xena, drawing a smile from Lyceus.

The magistrate stands, unwilling to let this young rebel lead his people any longer.

"This is an outrage!" he begins, "Remember your history, people of Amphipolis. Remember our ways of peace. Once, many a year ago, we chose to fight instead of bargain against a raiding party. Because of our defiance, the party burned our crops and killed five men. That is surely what will happen if we stand up to Cortese." There is a murmur that travels through the crowd. Surely, they did not want history to repeat itself.

Gabrielle studies Xena's reaction; she can read the growing anger there, but the young warrior does a good job of repressing it.

"I say," continues the magistrate, "We do as we have always done and give them what they ask, so that they may spare our lives and leave us our peace."

"There is difference between past and present," challenges Xena.

Necreos looks to her, his thick eyebrows furrowed.

"And what is that?" he asks.

Xena claims the opening. "Two things: Cortese and me," she pauses, letting a thrill of muttering to wash over those gathered. "Cortese is not like any raiding party to have visited Amphipolis. Before, it was just small bands of ruffians–– ten men or so. This is an army, one that is sweeping through lower Greece like diseased dogs. As I have said before, they are not merely looking for supplies. Cortese takes pleasure in terrorizing the countryside. They kill because they enjoy it. Someone like that needs to be stopped!" Her voice rings out.

Gabrielle winces at the irony.

"And I, I am different. I understand your lack of faith. Most of you have watched me grow up, and my experience still lacks. But, I am strong. We, are strong. I'm talking of pride, pride in your homeland and pride in yourself. No one is rising up; all before us have cowered under Cortese's threat. But, not us! We will fight, because we are from Amphipolis!"

A cheer rises up, as it is becoming canon to hear upon Xena's words. Necreos is red in the face.

"So, let us put it to a vote!" shouts Xena. Another cheer. "Those in favor of the fight, say Aye!" A cacophonous roar of approval rises up from the townspeople. Xena revels in their noise. "So, Magistrate, what have you to say in opposition to your people?" 

Necreos shakes his head, frowning. "My power comes only from the people and I am governed by their will. If it truly be the will of the people to take up arms against this Cortese, then let it be so." Another cheer overtakes any more words that the magistrate may have wanted to say. Gabrielle watches as Xena's great uncle stands, taking a place beside his niece.

"If we're ta act as army, we need a general!" he shouts. The people pause a moment, then all their eyes shift to a dark-haired young warrior.

"Xena! She'll lead us!" someone yells; there is a sound of approval from the others. Xena stands a bit straighter, then moves forward to place a hand on her uncle's shoulder.

"I do not take this honor lightly," she says, "I will not disappoint you."

Her uncle nods, entreating the people to a consensus. Both elder and magistrate seem to accept the turn of events and wearily make their way to their seats.

"Let us resume training tomorrow, be it rain or sun. I expect a stronger turnout now, from those able and willing to fight," says Xena.

"We'll be there Xena!" yells another man in solidarity. This seems to please the dark-haired young woman. She places a hand on the pommel of her sword.

"I'd like to name a second in command," she says. Many of the men's attention piques at this. Even Lyceus steps subtly forward. "I name Gabrielle of Potidaea my brigadier," she says, relishing her ability to shock. "There is no doubt she is a capable and thoughtful person, a good fighter, who has every reason to aid us in our victory." Gabrielle and Xena meet eyes briefly. "I aim to ally the villages of Meride, Potidaea, and Amphipolis, so that we may draw strength from numbers. As we speak, two men ride to each town seeking confirmation with our neighbors' leaders. Gabrielle, will you accept such a position?"

Gabrielle hesitates for a moment, wondering at these terms. She attempts to weigh the pros and cons of being named Xena's second. She decides that a position of title will suit her purposes better than being a silent partner in all the forthcoming planning. "I accept," she says.

"Now hold a damn minute," says Bairn, who had drilled with the men this afternoon. "She ain't no Amphipolean. I don't trust someone who ain't even our kin!" There are a couple of voices in equal protest.

"Who did you name your general, Bairn?" bites Xena. The man looks sheepishly away to his fellow townsfolk. No one offers their support. "That's what I thought," says Xena, "Now, if you pledge to trust me in battle, then you pledge to trust in my judgments. Do I have your pledge?"

"Aye, Xena," he says. Bairn settles back in his seat, literally put in his place by a few hands on his shoulder.

At that, the meeting comes to a close. People get up from their seats, converse excitedly with one another. Lyceus taps his sister on the shoulder. She turns to him, expecting his fury at not having been picked for second. Instead, he is smiling, making that same pledge to Xena perhaps more deeply than anyone in that hall.

" _Strategos_ ," he addresses, hitting his chest with a closed fist in salute, "I can't believe it, Xe."

"Lyceus," she replies, moving closer to him in confidence, "I'm sorry for not naming you––" 

"No," says Lyceus, "no, Gabrielle is the best pick. She'll keep you in line."

"She will," Xena looks backward toward Gabrielle, who seems to be in discussion with Toris. "Listen, I want you to be my colonel. You're a good horseman, brother. One of the best I've seen. So, if we have a  _hipparch_  at our disposal, then you will be the one to lead the cavalry. There's no one in this world I trust more."

Lyceus shows a self-deprecating smile. "Toris is the better swordsmen, the better fighter. He should be your colonel."

"Toris doesn't have one drop the courage you do," Xena replies. "Besides, he would be absolutely intolerable given any real position of power." Brother and sister share a laugh. Speaking of their third sibling, Xena looks to where he stands in conversation with the bard. She notes the vein in Toris' neck that usually protrudes when he's angry; he is shaking a finger at Gabrielle. She grits her teeth and advances on the two.

"What's going on here?" she demands.

Toris whips around at his sister's voice. "This is madness, Xena!"

Gabrielle tries diplomacy, "Toris doesn't agree with the proceedings here."

"You're damn right I don't. This isn't one of your little anti-authoritarian schemes, these are people's lives we're talking about. People's lives!"

"Don't you think I know that?" says Xena, glancing uneasily at the mostly-dispersed crowd. "It's not like I'm forcing them, there was a vote––"

"Oh no, you swayed them with your silly words, pride– honor– tosh! We all know why you're doing this!"

Lyceus had never seen his brother this angry before. Sure Xena and Toris were both pigheaded sometimes, and they clashed on just about everything, but it had always been a disagreement between siblings; words and wounds were evenly exchanged, but at the end of the day, they were always family. It looked like that might be in question at this moment. Xena narrows her eyes, hand gripping the pommel of her sword so tightly her knuckles had turned bone white.

"Why, Toris? Why am I doing this?" her voice is a whisper.

"Because it's a challenge. Because you want to win. Because you get a rise out of manipulating people to do what you want them to do. Now, you may have our mother and our brother fooled––"

"Speak for yourself!" spits Lyceus.

Toris ignores him. "You got them all fooled, Xena," he continues, "but not me. I know how you really are."

Gabrielle expects the worst; she waits for Xena to snap and throttle him. When it doesn't happen, she thinks they are all surprised.

"Is that what you really think?" she asks, the fight gone out of her.

"You know it's true," says Toris.

Xena presses her lips together, looks around at the last couple men and women leaving the hall.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm the beast you say I am––"

"Xena," says Gabrielle softly, shaking her head.

But Xena continues, still in that low voice. "But my reasons for taking command have nothing to do with this very real threat. Someone has got to fight. I can fight. And so I will. It's what I do. But, I can't keep face and do what I need to do without my brother––both of my brothers––there to back me up. I need you, Toris. Please, stand by me on this."

There is a glistening in both their eyes; they are so close to tears. Neither one allows them to come, however. Gabrielle looks at Lyceus; he has an expression of utmost turmoil on his face. Poor child, she thinks. Poor Lyceus, if only they knew. If only they knew that their brother's life was fated to end in the coming week, they wouldn't be causing him this pain by their fighting.

"Toris," he says, a pleading note in his voice.

Toris looks to his younger brother; he falters too at the look in his eyes. A brief frown graces over his face, so similar to the frowns that Gabrielle had seen on his sister's face. He shakes his head.

"I'm sorry, Lyceus," he says, "But I can't stand by her on this. Not this time." He shakes his head once more, then turns and walks down through the aisle of empty pews and out the door.

 

 

Her legs are tired, they are so tired. She has been running for hours, years, thousands of years. And the rain comes down like a monsoon. It beads on the bare skin of her arms, runs down her elbows and drips off in the wind rushing by; water clings to her dark hair loosed now from any of its plaits, streaming freely in her wake. She runs, she runs until her lungs are on fire and she feels the fire consume all the muscles in her body. In the middle of a meadow, far outside of Amphipolis, Xena stops, doubling over in pain. Rain lashes down and bends the stalks of the grasses and the wildflowers. The sky lightens and darkens with lightning, the ground and the trees and the rocks shake with thunder. The young warrior throws her face to the sky, letting the rain wash down.

"Ares!" she screams, "Ares! Come down here!" If the God of War's voice can be attributed to thunder, then Ares answers her by way of the storm. "Why do you curse me?" she yells again, dropping to her knees. She looks wildly around her, entreating the god to materialize. Nothing happens, however. Only a half-drowned girl kneeling in a valley remains. She presses her face down into the soaked grass, smelling the scent of soil and rain and rotted leaves. The sounds of her cries can be heard for leagues above the storm.

 

Gabrielle is nervous. She sits in her new room at the Inn, quite alone for the first time in a long while. She and Lyceus had watched Xena take off a moment after Toris from the hall, and she hadn't been seen since. It is now very late in the night and still, she is missing. Lyceus had told Gabrielle not to worry, that Xena often went running or riding over the country. He had told her of a time when Xena was only eight summers old and she got a whipping from Father for shirking her chores. She disappeared for four days, related Lyceus. Turns out she had taken the farm horse and rode all the way to Akti on the coast. The horse had died from exhaustion shortly after, but Xena survived. The story made the poet in Gabrielle cry out a little bit: Her mother's words came to her strangely. Boys, she said, they take their anger out on other bodies. Girls are different; they take their anger out on their own bodies. Xena, Gabrielle believed, suffered an androgyny in that respect. As a warlord, she was tough on her men, but no tougher than she was on herself. Of course, Gabrielle knew that Xena was more than capable of taking care of herself. But, she had been in such a state when she left. It worried the bard.

Gabrielle gets up from her uncomfortable half-perch on the bed and walks over to the window. She opens the shutters, letting the rain splash inside and wet the polished wood of the sill. The window looks out behind the Inn, to the hill and the pathway and the great oak tree only visible in the distance when the lightning flashes. Please, please, recites Gabrielle, please let her appear on that crest. Please let her be okay. She keeps her eyes fixed on that oak tree, counting the flashes of lightning that illumines its shape. She doesn't even know if Xena will come home in this direction. She continues to count. Then, on number four, a figure is silhouetted for a moment near the tree. Gabrielle does not need another look; she knows it is Xena. Abandoning the window, Gabrielle rushes out the door and down the stairs. She races through the empty dining area, then out the front door of the Inn. She runs as fast as she can through the dark market, along the cobbled path to the outskirt of town where it meets the darkened dirt of the path up the hill. And there, walking slowly and haggardly, dripping like one of Poseidon's castaways, is her young warrior friend.

"Xena!" calls Gabrielle. The warrior looks up at the sound of her name. Upon seeing the bard running through the rain, through the darkness to get to her, she stops. She waits until Gabrielle reaches her. Without a word, the bard throws her arms around the woman. Xena does not respond for a moment, merely stands there and wonders what she is doing. She is trying to comfort you, says some distant voice in the back of her mind. Then, Xena wraps her arms around the shorter woman and hugs her fiercely to her chest.

"Dumb warrior," mumbles Gabrielle into her chest.

For some reason, that makes Xena laugh despite everything.

"You said it," she replies, resting her cheek atop the now damp blonde head.

"Come on, come to my room and we'll fix you up." Xena allows herself to be led back into the town she had sworn to defend and protect, the town that was costing her her sanity and her temper and her family. She follows the bard through the darkness.

 

In Gabrielle's room, it is cool from the open window. She sits her friend on the bed and moves to close the shutters. When she turns around, Xena is standing again.

"Sit down," says Gabrielle.

"I'll get your bed all wet," Xena replies.

"Just sit, will you."

The warrior complies. Gabrielle moves to stand in front of Xena, towel proffered in her hand. When Xena doesn't take it, she drapes it over the warrior's black hair and begins to dry it herself. She rests the towel around Xena's neck.

"You need to get out of those clothes," says Gabrielle.

Xena nods. Normally, she would have made some crude joke but now, she is simply too tired. Gabrielle reaches for the scabbard at the warrior's hip; she loosens the sword from the belt and slips it off, laying it on the floor nearby. Slowly, Gabrielle begins to untie the leather knots at the sides of Xena's vest. When loosened, she lifts the garment over her head, hanging it on the bedpost. Xena's skin is pale beneath it, sporting a healthy tan line around her shoulders. Her breasts are smaller than Gabrielle remembers them being in their other life. She then realizes that is because Xena had never been with child yet, never had Solan. She wraps the towel around Xena's chest, then moves to loosen the laces of her leather pants, then kneels to the ground to tug on one sodden pant leg, then the other. She hangs them on the other bedpost. Gabrielle then takes a tentative seat on the bed next to her friend. A shiver runs through the girl's body. There is silence between them.

"Toris is right," says Xena, suddenly.

"What do you mean?" says Gabrielle, gently.

"Not about fighting Cortese, but about me."

"If you think that's true, then you can always change. You can reinvent yourself every second of every day."

"Yeah?" asks Xena, looking very small and very young. It is hard to remember that she is only seventeen summers old in view of all her accomplishments and pretensions–– but, all she is right now, Gabrielle realizes, is a teenager in pain. She hugs Xena close to her again and after a moment they sink down beside one another on the tiny mattress.

"Gabrielle?" says Xena, quietly.

"Yes?" Gabrielle answers, still with her arms cradled around the larger woman.

"Tell me a story would ya?"

"Of course," Gabrielle smiles, "A long long time ago, when Cronus lorded over the earth in chaos and turmoil, all people had four legs and two heads. In a fit of anger when Zeus came to overthrow him, Cronus cast down lightning bolts which split the people in half. And ever since then, we roam all the earth in search of the other half of our souls." Gabrielle can feel the heavy rise and fall of the chest beneath her arm and she knows that Xena has fallen asleep. She bends down and kisses the damp dark hair at her temple, allowing herself to breathe in the scent that smelled like home to her. Through all times, and all worlds, through death and the heavens and hells and out the other side, Gabrielle would always be home beside her warrior.

"I've found mine," she whispers.


	9. Chapter 9

 

**IX.**

As Lyceus winds his way through the early morning patrons come to break their fast at the Inn, all around him he hears talk of Cortese and of his sister.

"Hades, I think she's more trouble than anything, but she's got a damn good point."

"Xena's blessed by Ares 'imself, she is."

"Comin' to do drills this noon, Claudius?"

"Say, Lyceus," one man reaches out and grabs his arm as he passes by, "You seen that sister o' yours lately?"

Lyceus shakes his head, "Nah, but I'm sure she'll be back for drilling this afternoon." The man releases his arm with a grunt and Lyceus continues on his way to the kitchens. Upon entering, he sees his mother once again at her work.

"Mother," he says.

Cyrene looks up from the large pot of soup she is stirring. "Oh good, you're here. Have you seen Xena?"

"No, I was just going to ask you the same thing."

His mother shrugs, taking a handle on the long wooden spoon protruding from the pot. "She'll turn up. Perhaps Gabrielle has seen her."

"Has she been down yet?" he asks.

"Nope. She's probably still in her room. Would you mind going up to fetch her? I could use the extra pair of hands. Many of the girls didn't come in today."

"Why's that?"

"I have a feeling their husbands didn't want them around here. Maybe they think it'll get a little rowdy."

"Hmm," Lyceus considers, "I'll go get Gabrielle. See you soon, Mother. I'll be here to help for a bit until we have to go down to the fields." Cyrene smiles and watches her son's retreating back as he goes to do her bidding.

Lyceus pauses before the room which belongs to the bard. Running a hand through his curly black hair, he raises a hand to knock on the door.

"Gabrielle!' he calls, "It's Lyceus." He hears the bed-frame creak, two feet on the expanding wooden floorboards. He hears voices. "Hold on," he says to himself. There are two voices in that room. All of a sudden, the door swings open and instead of the blonde hair and green eyes of Gabrielle, there greets him tussled black hair and blue eyes. "Xena!" he exclaims.

"Good morrow, brother," she says. Lyceus glances over her shoulder to the bed wherein lies a bard, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. His immediate reaction is surprise, and then it turns to pain. No, he thinks, she wouldn't.

"Xena?" he asks.

Gabrielle gets out of the bed and paces barefoot over to his sister's back. She lays a hand on her shoulder, moving her aside so that she may greet the young man.

"It's not what it looks like," says Xena, raising her eyebrows in an innocent expression.

"What's going on?" says Gabrielle, "Good morning, Lyceus."

"You know you have your own bed, Xena," says Lyceus, "And where have you been? Everyone's been looking all over for you."

"I, uh..." begins Xena.

"Is something the matter?" asks Gabrielle.

"Nothing," says Lyceus, "Mother would like you down in the kitchens." With that, he turns and leaves the two puzzled women in the threshold.

"Lyceus, wait!" Xena calls. But, he is already disappeared. Xena steps back inside the room and closes the door behind her. She looks down at herself; only a scrap of a towel covers her body. She meets Gabrielle's eyes, and she finds the bard trying not to laugh.

"This is great," Xena deadpans.

"He'll be all right," Gabrielle soothes, "I'll talk to him."

Xena raises a hand to her brow, seemingly in pain. She then moves back to the bed and begins to hurriedly dress in her almost dry leathers.

"How are you feeling this morning?" asks Gabrielle.

Xena shoots her a look, her hands busy on the ties to her pants. "How am I feeling? Like Hades' damned," she shrugs on the vest, "I've got to turn a bunch of farmers into warriors; I've got to defeat a warlord without so much as a nick on my sword, and now  _both_ my brothers hate me." Now dressed, she bends down to pick up the sword and scabbard from where Gabrielle had put it on the floor last night.

"They don't hate you, Xena," says Gabrielle, "Lyceus is just a little jealous and Toris... well, Toris will come around. You'll see."

"No, you don't get it!" says Xena, her eyes wide, "Toris I can deal with. We've always been at odds. But, Lyceus is another story. There's no one in the whole world I love more than that boy. And if I start doing things to screw that up, then I am the monster Toris says I am."

"Xena, you don't actually believe––"

"Yes, I do."

"This is just some silly crush. Lyceus just has a crush on me. It'll blow over in a day."

"You don't understand," says Xena, "When we left to go to the hall last night, Lyceus and I got to talking. He said he was sorry that he jumped to conclusions when he accused me of hurting you. He said that he just felt overprotective, that he thinks he's in love with you. Gabrielle, he said he was going to make an offer to you." Xena looks away, toward the window.

"What?" says Gabrielle, her voice low, "You mean of marriage? But, Xena, he can't be more than fifteen summers old."

"When he makes up his mind about something, there's no changing it. We're the same in that respect. He made me swear not to tell you, but... Don't you see? He's going to think I'm trying to steal you away from him."

"Well, are you?" she asks, quietly. Xena meets her eyes, her shoulders sinking in defeat.

"Yes," she answers, "But, I didn't think you felt the same. I thought maybe you might return my brother's feelings."

Gabrielle closes the distance between them, taking the scabbard from Xena's hand and laying it on the bed. How should she respond? If she says the truth, then this Xena will most definitely expect a physical response. And she's just not sure if that is right at the moment. How would she ever be able to face the older Xena? Then again, if she denies feelings outright for this young warrior, it could really harm the trust building between them. Xena is even liable to act out in anger, in pain, like she is wont to do. Oh, it's too early in the morning to be dealing with all this!

"Do you?" presses Xena, putting a few gentle fingers below Gabrielle's chin to raise the green eyes to her own. Gabrielle looks up and swims for a moment in those blue pools. She knows she cannot lie, not in something like this. She takes a breath.

"I think Lyceus is a wonderful person and he is sure to make someone a great husband. I just... it's just that my heart belongs to another."

"I'll kill them," says Xena.

Gabrielle smiles, tears inexplicably in her eyes. How can she not know? Can't she see? "You don't know?" says the bard, still holding Xena's stare.

Blue eyes widen. "Please say it's me."

Gabrielle takes Xena's larger hands and cups them in her own; in them, she envisions her heart.

"It's you," says Gabrielle, "It's always been you. It always will be you."

If there was a deadness in Xena's eyes before, now life blazes there once more. She stoops, intending on the bard's lips, but Gabrielle puts a hand on her chest.

"I can't," says the bard.

"But, I thought...?"

"I love you, you have to trust that I do. But I can't be that way with you."

Xena's look is incredulous. "Why?"

"Please, Xena. Just trust me."

"No, I want to know why," she steps away from the blonde, then darts a hand to the bed to pick up her scabbard once more. "If you love me, why don't you want to be with me?"

"Sex isn't always a part of love, Xena," says Gabrielle, desperate to have this conversation over with.

The young warrior begins to pace. "True. A sister's love or a mother's or a friend's. But friends don't look at each other the way you look at me. Friends don't respond the way you do to my touch. I know you want me, just as much as I want you––"

"Xena."

"You're hiding something. There is a reason isn't there?" Energy is rolling off the warrior, in bright waves of heat.

"Yes, there's a reason," says Gabrielle.

"Then what in Hades is it? I have a right to know."

"It's complicated." Gabrielle shakes her head, takes a seat on the bed.

"I know what it is: you don't really love me. Maybe you're just trying to get in my good graces now that I have power. Maybe you just want to stay close to me so that you can sway my decisions. If you didn't love me, I wouldn't listen to you anymore and all your plans of peace go right out the window. No! Maybe you're not even peaceful, you might be a spy. Maybe you're even with Cortese!"

Xena hears an unintelligible mutter from the bard.

"Speak up!" she demands.

"I feel like I'm betraying her!" Gabrielle's voice rings out.

Xena stops her pacing. She looks to the bard who sits on the bed, tears streaming down her face.

"What?" she says, her voice still cold. "Betraying who?"

"The other Xena..." replies Gabrielle in the smallest of voices.

Xena throws up her hands in exasperation. She allows herself a few calming breaths. Shaking her head, her hands on her hips, she says, "Gabrielle, you're in love with a dream." Turning, she leaves the bard alone in the room.

 

 

The days pass quickly in a fogged reverie. The rain held for a few merciful hours each of the three afternoons and Xena led intensive drills down in the pasture. The numbers of her legion have grown more than double its size. With this, she is pleased. She looks with vigor at her men, who now move in synchronized grunts absent her vocal commands. With their swords, they cross left from shoulder to hip, cross right, drag across, overhead slash, thrust forward. She watches Lyceus drill among them, his movements steady, his sword arm sure in its course; she can tell he is angry. He had been working with quiet determination these days, spurred by what purpose she did not know. They had barely exchanged words, other than to do with preparations and strategy. Xena knew by way of some stealthy shadowing, that Gabrielle had tried to talk to him and the exchange nearly broke her heart.

Gabrielle had cornered him by the stables as he heaped forks of hay in the troughs for the horses. Xena slipped through a loosened wall plank and listened to the bard.

"Lyceus," she said.

Her brother looked up, his cheeks coloring at once. He averts his eyes to his task immediately.

"I'm busy here, Gabrielle."

Xena nearly smiled at his feigned stoicism.

"I brought you some cider," said the bard, offering him a cup. Lyceus took it graciously, still not meeting her eyes.

"Thanks," he said, taking a sip.

"Listen, about what happened the other day––" she began.

"No," said Lyceus, "It's okay. I understand."

"What do you understand?" said Gabrielle.

"I understand why you would want to be with her instead of me. Really, I was kidding myself," Lyceus smiled self-deprecatingly.

"Why do you say that?"

"She's perfected it to an art really. Getting people to follow her, trust her, love her. Mostly, she's just done it to Toris, just to take the piss you know? I swear, any girl that Toris even looked at twice, any of his mates, Xena would make it a point to charm them all, steal them right from under him. It used to make him so mad. He doesn't even know about Alaethea, yet. Why should I think I'd be any different? I liked you, so of course, she would too."

Gabrielle frowned and heaved a long sigh. She stepped closer to Lyceus, placing a gentle hand on one of his not clutched around the cup of cider.

"Lyceus, you don't think she's doing that with me, do you?" 

"How should I know? The thing is, Gabrielle," he set his cup down on the edge of one of the troughs, and gathered the bard's other hand in his own, "now, this is embarrassing for me to say, but I love you. It hasn't even been a week and still I feel that I've known you for lifetimes. Never have I seen such kindness and wisdom in a woman. What I'm saying is, if there is even a chance that you feel my sister doesn't love you, that she just wants to– you know– with you, then I'm saying choose me. I love you, I'm sure of it. You would make the loveliest of wives, and I a husband that would tremble at your feet. And if this war claims my life, that I would have it with you at my side."

"So, that's why you wish to marry so young," said Gabrielle, almost mutely. The two stand very close.

From the shadows, Xena held her breath in her aching chest.

"You're afraid you're going to die," Gabrielle continued.

"I won't deny that I have the fear," said Lyceus, "and I guess war spurs many hasty acts, but this is not one of them. I figure if I see love and recognize it for what it is, then I should grasp it with both hands. We live day by day, Gabrielle."

"Indeed, we do," answered the bard. She closed her eyes for a moment. Then, she disentangled her hand from Lyceus' and placed it on his chest. "I think you're wonderful," she breathed, "You will grow to be such a good man. And I have more love for you than you could possibly understand...."

"But—" said Lyceus, his eyes sinking down.

"But I cannot love you as a wife loves her husband. You are and always will be a brother to me. And as someone who loves you, I am telling you there will be others worthy of your affection. And this war, it does terrible acts to the poet's spirit. You are not a warrior, Lyceus, you love freely and have such a gift of words. War will destroy that, I am certain of it."

"So you're saying you cannot love me as a warrior?" he asked, confused.

"I think you cannot love yourself as a warrior," she replied.

"If it was for you, I would lay down my sword. But if you say I don't get your love in exchange, you cannot ask me not to fight for my homeland and for my people. You cannot ask me not to fight for Xena." His eyes were fierce and his sister felt a swelling pride at the sight. Gabrielle was quiet for a moment, she withdrew her hands from his and stepped back.

"No, I can't. You do what you think is right."

"So, it's her then?"

"Yes, Lyceus, it's her. It has always been so."

 

Xena remembers this exchange with twisting in her gut as she watches her men drill. She and Gabrielle barely had a chance to eat together, let alone have a discussion in the last few days. Right now, Gabrielle is across town, deep into managing their projects of fortifying walls and getting together medical supplies. Life had been a whirlwind of sleepless nights and endless planning and negotiation. But it had all been invigorating to Xena thus far; if not for the thrill of leadership and the use of her mind and her many skills, then for the distraction it offered from her thoughts of the blonde bard. At that reasoning, Xena steps forward, hearing the distant thunder over the countryside.

"All right, break!" she yells. The men breathe a collective sigh of relief, throwing their swords down onto the ground and grabbing half-drunk skins of water. Xena strides through her tired legion, noting any injuries, any signs of weakness. Nearly all their eyes gleam up at her with fire and energy, and this makes Xena smile. "I have a proposition for you all," she says, watching their ears perk up, "We go a little later today and have proper contest between us, just sparring, no weapons." There is a cheer among the men, who begin to shove one another in friendly taunts. A couple of the men hit Lyceus on the shoulder with the flats of their swords. "We'll run a gauntlet challenge, team up with a partner and we'll fight in deuces." There is clamoring among the men in choosing partners, and many approach Xena herself for the honor, but their commander strides purposefully to Lyceus.

"How about it, brother?" says Xena.

Lyceus glances to Dimas, back yesterday from his travels to Potidaea.

"Sorry, I've got a partner already," he says.

Xena narrows her eyes.

"I'll be your partner," comes a voice from behind them. It is a woman's voice. Xena turns around to find Alaethea striding toward them with purpose. She has abandoned her usual dress and opted for a tunic and fitted pants.

"You haven't been trained," says Xena in the most even of voices.

"Oh come on, Xena, I've messed about with you and Toris for gods know how long. You know I'm a nasty fighter," she drawls.

Xena barely smiles. "All right then," she turns back to her men, "Form up!" The obey her and form a ring in the field. "Okay, first match is Claudius and Dacien, and... let me see, who is as mule-headed," the men chuckle at her words, "Exetus and Lester, step up!" The four men take position and at her command begin to spar with each other. Xena looks with confidence on their new skill; they look less like a sloppy bar fight and more like foot soldiers now. A few more matches are called, each man taking their win or loss with equal amounts of humility and pride.

"You have the hands of a god," comes Alaethea's voice, "to be able to shape these farmers into soldiers."

"No, just patience and belief in a cause greater than myself," replies Xena, still watching the fight.

"Nothing is greater than you," says Alaethea, stepping close to the warrior's side.

Xena can feel the warmth from her body. She allows herself a brief chuckle at the brunette's words.

"I'm serious, Xena," she continues, "nothing is greater than the achievements you make for yourself."

The warrior meets her eyes with catlike sharpness.

"What about the greater good?" says Xena, her voice threatening.

Alaethea laughs and hooks an arm through Xena's. "What of the bard?" she asks, meaning the question like an insult.

"What about her?" says Xena.

"I've heard her tell a few stories at the Inn these past few nights. She's quite a talent."

"Yes, she is."

"Quite a pet you've made of her. Quite a pet she's made of you," says Alaethea, her sumptuous mouth quirking.

"What's that supposed to mean?" sneers Xena, wrenching her arm from the other woman's grasp.

"She's making you docile, like a housetrained pup. You know what all her stories are about? Self-sacrifice, forgiveness, peace. That's not you, Xena."

"How do you know what I am?"

"Oh, I know you better than you think," says Alaethea, she lowers her voice and presses her lips very close to Xena's ear, "You are destined for greatness, to be my warrior queen."

Blue eyes narrow, eyelids drooping like shrouds. Damn her, thinks Xena.

"Then let us prove it," says Xena, striding away and pushing through the circle of men. She marches toward Marius and Archer still brawling in the mud and lifts Archer up by the back of his vest and launches him a few feet away; she then hauls Marius up by his collar and lands a solid punch across his face, throwing him back into the other men on the side.

"Let us see competition worth the viewing!" she yells, "Lyceus, Dimas, square up!" Xena looks to Alaethea still on the sidelines and beckons her into the ring. Lyceus and Dimas take the ring, stretching their arms and grunting plans of attack briefly between them. Xena pulls Alaethea close, her actions rough and calculated. "Dimas feints twice with his left jab, then throws a hard right," she says. Alaethea nods. She had never fought beside Xena; it had always been either against her in a sparring match, or it was careful lessons by the river that usually led to less warlike actions. Even in this silly contest, she knew she had to prove something to her warrior friend.

"Prepare to meet your match, Xena!" calls Dimas with good humor.

"Where?" she responds.

There are chants beginning to take the form of her name.  _Xe–na, Xe–na, Xe–na,_ they call. She looks to Lyceus, readying himself, flexing his hands.

"Begin!" someone calls. Lyceus rushes her, taking her to the ground in one brazen tackle. Xena rolls from the hit, leaping up onto her feet. Her brother does the same. From the corner of her eyes, she can see Alaethea ducking from Dimas' right jab. Good girl, she thinks. Lyceus has his fists up and ready for her assault, and when it doesn't come soon enough, he thrusts forward with a jab. She blocks. He throws another punch, which she blocks just as easily. At the third swing, she ducks under it and grabs his arm and twists it up and behind his back; she kicks him in the arse and sends him sprawling forward. She sees Dimas land a punch in Alaethea's gut, which stuns her. Lyceus turns and charges again, but Xena emits a loud battle cry and leaps over him to land behind Dimas. She chops the side of his thick neck and allows Alaethea to gain back her position. But Lyceus capitalizes on his sister's momentary distraction and grabs one her arms, swinging her off balance. He lands a punch in her ribs, then another on her shoulder. Xena crunches her body in defense and attempts to swing a leg under Lyceus' legs to drop him, but he anticipates and jumps over them. She sees that Alaethea is holding her own, rolling atop Dimas and pinning him to the ground by straddling his chest. Lyceus swings but Xena catches his fist, he attempts to swing the other but she grabs that one too. They are in a contest of strength now and Lyceus knows he will lose. His pride is strong though and he holds out for another moment until Xena gets a knee to his chest, still holding his hands, then proceeds to walk up his front to launch herself in a backflip. She lands low and sweeps a powerful leg under and drops him hard to the ground. She is quick to stand and place a boot evenly on his chest. Alaethea still has Dimas on the ground and has his arms pinned beneath his sides. There is a great cheer among those watching and Xena steps off her brother's chest and extends a hand down to him. He looks at her a moment, then meets it with his own as she helps him to stand.

"Good fight," he says.

"Yeah," agrees Xena. They exchange breathless smiles.

Far up on the hill that looks down in the southern pasture, stands a blonde woman escaping for the moment her dull duties of wall-building and herb-gathering. Gabrielle had ventured across town when she noticed that men weren't back from drills as early as they usually were; she had an important message for Xena anyway. When she crested the hill and saw the villagers fighting each other, she thought Xena had lost control and they were turning on each other. But then she noticed the cheers and shouts and she realized it for the contest it was. Good thinking Xena, she mused, get them to feel like brothers in war. Her eyes sought out the warrior in question and was surprised to see Alaethea close by her side. Toris' fiance leaned close to her ear and said something that spurred Xena into violent action. What was this? thought Gabrielle. She watched the fight between the four friends and saw that it seemed to have put Xena and Lyceus back into that indestructible friendship that they have. Perhaps her words did have some effect on the young man.

Yet, she is more surprised when Xena calls it a day and the men gather their weapons and supplies and scatter off toward their homes for dinner. Xena and Lyceus clasp arms and the young man starts back toward the Inn without her. The warrior then turns to Alaethea. Gabrielle watches as the brunette extends a hand to the dark-haired woman, and as Xena takes it, allowing herself to be led in the opposite direction toward the river. Her curiosity piqued, Gabrielle walks in pursuit of them.

Employing all the stealth techniques that the older Xena had taught her, Gabrielle manages to follow them to the banks of the river without being discovered. From the dense foliage that lines the banks of the river, she is now in hearing- and seeing-distance of the two. She knows she shouldn't be sneaking around like this, but something in their behavior seemed to beg a follower.

"I'm covered in mud," says Alaethea, looking down at her tunic.

"Only one way to get it out," says Xena, crouching into an attack position.

"I dare you—"

In a fluid motion, Xena sweeps the young woman up in her arms and launches them both into the chilled stream. Alaethea shrieks and struggles to stand in the waist-high water. Gabrielle has to force herself to smile at this abandon with which they play. This is good, isn't it? But she can't help the sinking in her gut.

"Xena," says Alaethea, searching in the water around her for the disappeared swimmer. Suddenly, she is yanked underwater and in a moment, Alaethea surfaces sputtering and coughing with a lecherously smiling Xena close by. "You're cruel," she says, pouting.

"That I am," says Xena, "Good fight today."

"Yeah?"

"I mean it. You got Dimas pretty good."

"Yeah well, he's always been a leg man," she replies, giving Xena a telling glance.

"You didn't!" says Xena.

"Why, does it make you jealous?" Alaethea swims closer to the warrior.

"No, just ashamed," Xena teases, backing up a little toward a rock that jutted out into the quick of the stream. Gabrielle has to strain her ears to hear Alaethea's next words over the rush of the water.

"Don't you miss it?" she says, swimming closer to Xena.

"Miss what?"

"Me, what I can do for you?" says Alaethea.

Gabrielle swallows. She knows she should leave, but her body is rooted beside the tree.

"Well, I don't know Alaethea, what  _can_  you do for me?" Xena intones.

The slighter woman pins Xena with her body against the rock, the water flowing through trying to separate them.

"I can set you on your true path, Xena," she says, tracing a wet finger over the skin of her shoulder.

"And what is my true path?" asks Xena, breathing heavily.

"Conquest," she says, "power, skill. Someday you will have whole nations bow at your feet. And I among them. Put aside your silly notions of love, Xena, they'll only distract you. I can offer you service, devotion." She trails her finger over the edge of the warrior's vest, dipping below into her cleavage. Xena catches Alaethea's hand and spins them around so that the brunette is now pinned against the rock. Xena squeezes the wrist in her own, pressing it flat against the rock as if she intends to disarm the girl. She then bends her head and attacks the pale skin of Alaethea's neck. The young woman cries out in pain and pleasure and claws at the sides of Xena's face to bring her lips to meet her own. They kiss heatedly, teeth biting lips, hands tangled in each other's wet hair.

Gabrielle can barely retain her breath; her jealousy fans like frangipani flowers in her chest and she feels their sub-tropic sap run between her legs. She watches as they continue to devour each other.

Xena has now pushed Alaethea into a standing position, so that they stand half in the water, bent over the submerged rock; her thigh comes up to force itself between the other woman's legs. Alaethea now laying laterally, Xena rakes her teeth down the length of her neck, tearing the seam of her tunic along the side and ripping it to the edge of her breast. Her teeth find their way along the revealed skin and Alaethea writhes beneath her hands. Trailing one of those hands behind Alaethea's knee, Xena drags her legs apart. She makes expert work of the laces of her trousers and pulls them down just enough to gain access to her intent. With a quick movement, Xena dips her hand into the front of Alaethea's pants and Gabrielle hears a cry of utmost ecstasy pierce the air.

"Yes," Alaethea hisses, grinding her hips against Xena's hand.

She thrusts hard into the woman, knowing exactly how rough to be. In her eyes is a blue fury, incredible desire. After a particularly hard thrust, Alaethea cries out again. "This is what you are," she says, riding Xena's hand. She grabs at the warrior's thigh, guiding it to aid in the force of her hand. "Say it," she yelps.

"This is what I am," grunts Xena, grinding on Alaethea's thigh.

"Yes. Oh, yes, gods," cries Alaethea, "Say you'll forget the bard." In an instant, Xena stills her motions. Pulling her hand from its burial in the woman's dark wet depths, she pushes herself into a standing position. Alaethea makes a groaning, half-animal noise.

"Xena!' she cries, looking up to her vulnerably. Xena's eyes are set in a hard mask as she tries to calm her breathing. "Come back. I need you inside me."

Xena shakes her head and turns, swimming through the slipstream and over to the other bank of the river. She leaps up onto dry land, then wrings her sopping mass of black hair.

"Xena!" yells Alaethea, "How dare you!"

But Xena does not answer her and continues up the embankment to the denser foliage. Gabrielle does not have time to move out of view and as Xena passes, she turns and meets the green eyes of the bard. There is a look of utter astonishment that crosses her face. They are out of view from where Alaethea still sits on the rock.

"Xena!" she screams. A flock of blackbirds takes off from the trees.

Gabrielle walks over to where Xena stands still with that shocked expression. She does not approach any further and attempts to keep a void of emotion on her face. She knows that she fails, however, and can feel the tears well up in her eyes. She says the only thing that comes to mind.

"The leaders of Meride and Potidaea will be arriving tomorrow to meet with you, General," she says, then turns and walks ahead of the stunned warrior princess.


	10. Chapter 10

 

**X.**

When Gabrielle awakes in her bed the next morning, she opens her eyes to find an ink blue hyacinth flower laying next to her on the pillow. She feels a smile arcing its way over her face as the sunrise did over the horizon. Putting a delicate hand beneath its soft petals, she brings it close to her nose so that she may smell its perfume. It is one of her favorite scents, although she had never told that to anyone. Sitting up, she cradles the large flower in her small palms. Then it all comes rushing back to her, carried on the waters of the river. If this flower was from Xena––it had to be, for she was the only one who could sneak in her room without her hearing––then she wanted nothing to do with it. Gabrielle gets up and opens the shutters to her window.

Outside, the sky is a beautiful blue, without even a trace of the rain clouds that had been swarming for the majority of the week. With a hand extended out the window and the hyacinth in it, she doesn't have the heart to throw it out. Instead, she clutches it close to her heart, willing it to sap the pain she felt there. She had to remember her task: I'm not here to bed a wild young warrior princess, nor I am here to burn with jealousy when that young warrior princess beds someone else. In fact, if Gabrielle thought about it, removed from her consuming jealousy, she had no right to her expectations of loyalty. Xena had in fact offered herself, and she refused; there was no reason that Xena could not look elsewhere to sate those particular desires. But, that was what it was all about: it was about curbing that Desire. Isn't that what Lao Ma had taught to the older Xena when she was literally crippled by the driving force.

_Conquer Desire. Conquer yourself._

Wise words from a wise woman. Gabrielle realizes that what upset her most about the exchange between this Xena and Aleathea––while the physical lust was hard to stomach––were the words that the brunette seductress had uttered in the warrior's ear and the power it wielded over that warrior's sense of purpose and self. Conquest, power, skill, Alaethea had said. It had all sounded too much like the words of a particular god she knew. Suddenly, it all clicks in Gabrielle's mind. Maybe that god was the one who was responsible for sending her back to this time? She couldn't fathom why he would, but then again there was only one reason and one reason only that this god did anything: for Xena and to enact his will through her. With renewed purpose, Gabrielle moves from the window and dresses. She must find this Alaethea and have a serious conversation with her.

 

Once downstairs, taking the servants' passageway to the kitchens, Gabrielle runs into Lyceus, who is in deep conversation with Toris by the ovens. Their words seem to be as heated as their surroundings.

"Good morrow Brigadier," jests Lyceus. He is smiling around his brother's shoulder.

Toris turns around and grimaces at the blonde's advance. "Morning Gabrielle," he says.

Gabrielle greets them both with equal cordiality, her thoughts far away from the kitchens of the Inn. A bowl of oatmeal appears in front of her and she looks up to find Lyceus' hand offering it.

"Better get this down quick," he says.

Gabrielle takes it, a question in her eyes.

"Ganix rode in this morning with the magistrates from your village and Meride."

"Already?" says Gabrielle around a mouthful of porridge.

"Yep, and they don't look too happy," says Toris with a little pride in his voice, "She'll never persuade them."

"Maybe not," says Gabrielle, distractedly. It was not a good thing that three riders had made it through the city border and within its walls without anyone having been notified. "Lyceus," she says, "will you select a few of the men today to be border patrol? Fast runners, able to make decisions quickly."

"Your command, my hands," says Lyceus, thumping a fist on his chest. Toris snorts.

"Thank you," says Gabrielle, setting her barely-eaten oatmeal on the counter, "Where are the magistrates now?"

"Just in there–" says Lyceus, pointing toward the dining area of the Inn.

"And Xena?" asks Gabrielle.

"With them already," he replies. Gabrielle nods and sets her jaw. She makes it a point to remind the general just what the duties of her second-in-command were, namely to be notified when important things like this occur.

 

Rounding the corner of the hall into the dining area, she sees the room cleared of any patrons save Dimas, Ganix, two other men who must be the magistrates, and Xena standing with her hands planted on the table in front of them.

"You're not listening," says the young general, her teeth gritted.

"Sure we are," says one of the magistrates with a too-white wig set over his hair, "you want our people to die in your war."

The other magistrate, with a bulkier build in full riding gear, nods his heavy head in agreement.

"Not to die," says Gabrielle, interrupting the meeting, "but to fight for their own peace."

They all turn at her voice, Xena's face coloring slightly.

"Themis, this is my second, Gabrielle," says Xena, gesturing to the bulky man. "Aidos, you must know each other."

The elder man quirks a finely plucked eyebrow, "And why should I?"

"She's from your own village––" starts Xena.

"A cousin of Hecuba," finishes Gabrielle, feeling sweat condense on her palms. She had completely forgotten the hairy situation it would be if a fellow Potidaean did not recognize her; she would certainly incur a whole new onslaught of questions from the sharply assertive warrior princess.

"Ah, Herodotus' wife?" says Aidos.

"Yes," says Gabrielle, relieved.

"A beautiful woman, indeed. I hear she is with child."

"She is," says Gabrielle, reeling some at the news. Was that child in her mother's stomach her own self? Was is another child altogether? Had Astarte, the goddess of fertility, simply skipped over the birth of Gabrielle and moved on to Lila? This time travel thing was confusing indeed.

"A happy blessing," says Aidos, interrupting her train of thought. "Tell me, Gabrielle, what do you think of this zealous young warrior's proposition? That we ally our three villages to fight this warlord. I would trust the opinion of a kinsman over these foreigners."

Gabrielle registers the fire in Xena's cold eyes as she moves closer to stand beside her general. She notices a map of Thrace spread out over the table from which Xena was trying to explain Cortese's path of destruction. Laying a hand over Amphipolis, Gabrielle leans on the table, her eyes set in a serious expression.

"I think it absolutely necessary," she says.

Themis hits Aidos on the arm. "You Potidaeans are just as crazy as Amphipolis."

"And why do you think this?" answers Aidos, ignoring Themis.

"Because it is your duty as leaders of good people to protect them from harm, future and present, even if it means sacrifice." She looks to Xena, their eyes meeting quickly. "Cortese is a very capable warlord, I'm sure my general here has explained to you both just how capable. Now, our only chance to stop such evil is to come together under the banner of that which is for the greater good. For the health and prosperity of the people who look to us for guidance."

"Still though," injects Themis, "we are not fighting people. It is not our way."

"Nor ours," says Gabrielle, "but at least we don't mask our cowardice with our peacefulness."

Xena attempts to conceal her laughter at the bard's words. Themis sputters, looks incredulously to Aidos.

"I believe you speak the truth," says Aidos, "but my mind is not yet made up."

"Mind you, our time constraints bar from deep reflection," growls Xena, "Cortese will be at Meride in three days."

This statement brings a thoughtful scowl to Themis' face.

"Nonetheless," says Gabrielle, her mind working quickly, "please accept a day of hospitality on behalf of Amphipolis. It will give you a chance to get a sense of our war preparations and see the magic Xena has worked on the militia."

Themis and Aidos look to each other in consideration.

"We'll reconvene at a dinner tonight, here," continues Gabrielle, "in your honor and you both will make your decisions then."

Both men seem to accept the terms of her plan.

"Very well," says Xena, usurping the conversation once more, "Dimas, Ganix, please escort our guests around. Show them the walls, the hospice and anything else you think necessary. Bring them around at high sun to witness the men drilling–– under my command," she adds.

Both of her soldiers beat a fist on their chest. "Princess," they both say. It had started out as a joke among her men to call her that, stemming from Alaethea's coinage of Warrior Princess, but now it took on an air of demurred respect from their lips.

"Since when did Amphipolis churn out such loquacious women?" says Aidos to Themis as they follow Dimas and Ganix out of the Inn.

 

Once alone, Xena looks to Gabrielle. "Good talking." Her voice betrays the embarrassment returning over the events of last night.

"Thank you," says Gabrielle, "I'll have you remember that your Brigadier should be notified when such things happen, for she is still of some use." Intent on walking away from Xena, Gabrielle turns at those words. Xena's hand on her arm impedes that intent.

"Gabrielle––" she begins. The bard turns back around, meeting very distressed arctic eyes.

"I was wrong to spy on you," says Gabrielle at once, "it won't happen again."

Xena emphatically shakes her head. "It– it's not that," her voice softens, the fire dies a little in her eyes, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have... Alaethea is nothing to me."

"Yeah, it seems that way," grates Gabrielle, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Xena's brow stiffens into a more stoic expression. "You heard me though," she reasons, "she asked me to forget you and I walked away. You see, I'm serious about you. I love you."

Gabrielle allows a snort of disbelief, "Spare me, Xena."

"What?" The warrior's grip tightens on the bard's arm.

"Did you realize you loved me before or after your fingers were inside her?" She didn't mean to admit her anger, hadn't she resolved herself in her room earlier? "Walking away mid-fuck is not evidence of love, Xena, it's insanity. If you think it is, then you have no idea what love is."

"You're right!" exclaims Xena, releasing her hand from Gabrielle's arm and slamming it down on the map of Thrace, "I know nothing of love.  _You_  were supposed to teach me!".

"Don't you dare!" yells Gabrielle, her thoughts completely obscured by her anger, "I love you with every breath in my body, I'm doing all this for you! I do everything for you!"

"For me?" says Xena, flashing a vicious smile, "Cow shit. You're doing it for the other Xena, and moreover, you're doing it for your own love of her. So really, it's for yourself. And I know you're not telling me everything, Gabrielle, I saw the look on Aidos' face when I introduced you. He'd never seen you in his life."

Damn, thought Gabrielle, Xena is much too perceptive for her own good. And the warrior was more right about Gabrielle's selfishness than she cared to admit. For it wasn't a desire to help Xena that she had prayed to travel back in time, it was because of her anger at the warrior, her desire to change her. It was Dahak's fire and the child ripped from her body that drove her actions; it was Caesar and the legions of Rome marching upon the soil of Brittainia. It was Hatred that moved her. The thought stings her into silence. Maybe they both had a lot to learn about Love, for they knew too much of Hatred.

"Are you going to answer me?" demands this Xena in front of her. All the anger and all the antipathy leaves the bard's body and in its place, all she feels is sadness and defeat.

"You're right," says Gabrielle, surprising Xena at the change in her voice.

"So you're not from Potidaea?" the warrior's brows knit together.

"No, I am," says Gabrielle. Should I tell her the truth? Would it make a difference in Xena's distrust of me? She takes a deep deep breath, "I just lived there when Magistrate Lares was in office."

"Oh," breathes Xena.

The warrior and bard stand in awkward silence. Finally, Gabrielle moves to cover Xena's hand that rests on the map over the table. She traces the bones in the warrior's hand, noting that they are in the same shape as those of her friend in the future. Except, she considers to herself, without that thin white scar on the thumb knuckle of her right hand.

"Forgive me?" asks Gabrielle, her eyes seeking out the warrior's.

Xena is captured by those green eyes and she finds the same honesty as there always exists in them.

"You're not the one to be asking forgiveness, Gabrielle," says Xena, "I am. I heard you in the barn talking to Lyceus; I know you love me. I feel horrible about doing what I did and I've never felt that horrible or that guilty over anything that I've ever done. I shouldn't have let Alaethea get to me. Sometimes, I act too impulsively. Well, I guess you know..." She was babbling and Gabrielle knew it.

"It's okay," says Gabrielle, taking Xena's hand from the map and into her own.

"Forgive me?" asks Xena, sincerity apparent in her eyes.

"Always," says the bard, kissing the warrior's thumb without the scar. Gently, Xena disentangles her hand and cups Gabrielle's cheek in her palm. The skin is smooth despite being a little damp from a tear that had escaped into her hand; she brushes the tears away.

"Boy, you are a crier, aren't you," says Xena, feeling her own eyes prickle.

"Yeah," laughs Gabrielle, then her face turns serious once more, "Xena, I don't want you to touch her again. There's something not right with her."

Xena's face retains its shame, "I won't. I swear it. I'm yours, all yours." Outside there is a clap of thunder in the distance. "Damn," says Xena, looking out the far window, "I thought the rain would break today."

"Me too," Gabrielle replies. Then, moved by some rule of the Fates, both women's eyes meet each other and stay locked in a bemused sort of attraction. There are the same questions cinctured by blue and green:  _Who are you? Why do I love you?_ And it is the green eyes that draw closer and the lips beneath them that part. In the chastest of touches, Gabrielle brushes her lips against Xena's. They echo the thunder outside with lightning between them. In a breath, it is over, but it doesn't stop Xena from pushing her strong body close to the bard's, backing her up against the table. Xena's hands travel down the smaller woman's shoulders, over her biceps and forearms to her hands that lay planted behind her on the map. The gesture is not one of possession or domination, but one of passion. Bending her dark head down, Xena places her lips on the dip of fragrant skin where Gabrielle's collarbone meets her shoulder. Its effect is tantalizing for both women. But, borrowing from the newly resigned promise of restraint, Xena stands up straight and takes a step subtly away from the bard.

"Thank you for the flower," says Gabrielle, breathlessly, "Hyacinths are my favorite".

But before Gabrielle can register Xena's look of confusion, the door of the Inn opens admitting Lyceus onto the raised threshold. Upon spotting them and their proximity, Lyceus clears his throat.

"Uh, excuse me," he says, his heart in his throat, "Gabrielle, I did what you asked."

Gabrielle steps away from Xena, her cheeks coloring a darker shade of red than they already were, "Thank you, Lyceus."

"Marius and Leon will serve as border patrol," he replies, hopping over the rail and onto the floor of the dining room, "Both of them tied for second place in the long-distance run at last year's festival races."

"Oh?" says Gabrielle, "Who won first?"

"Xena," says Lyceus, looking at the champion herself.

"Of course," says Gabrielle, "well, I should really get over to the hospice and get some projects going with the women over there. Xena, I'll meet you at noon when the magistrates come to see you drill."

"Sure," replies Xena, watching Gabrielle's hips as she walks up the stairs of the foyer and out the front door.

Lyceus too looks after the blonde woman, yet when he opens his mouth to say something, Xena holds up a hand.

"Not a word, brother, not a word."

 

 

Both Themis and Aidos had come and gone at the hospice by late afternoon, on their way to the practice fields. Gabrielle had spent a whole candlemark explaining to them all the preparations taking place in Amphipolis. She told them that the townspeople––mostly the women as Xena had all the men––had been split into tasks of their skill. Those good with craft were told to start fashioning clay smoke bombs, arrowheads, and arrow shafts. Those with strength help build high walls on both roads that led into the eastern and western gates of the town. And those leftover had been sent to gather healing herbs in the forest, collect buckets upon buckets of water to store in the hall should there be a siege, and to tear endless pieces of cloth into bandage strips. The magistrates had paid close attention and Gabrielle was heartened to learn that they were at least considering participation in the movement.

Now, preparing to go join them on the field with Xena, she tries to finish up some of the tasks she had started. Adelphe stood next to her, churning a vat of beeswax and plantain salve over a fire.

"Good," says Gabrielle, bending to inspect the greenish fluid, "In a few minutes, Astrophe and Bella will help you divvy it up into jars to let it harden."

"Sho' thing, miss," says Adelphe.

"All right, I'll see you all tomorrow morning," says Gabrielle, and she leaves them to it.

As she walks through the marketplace on her way across town down toward the southern pasture, Gabrielle spots two familiar people talking to one another near the apothecary's building–– she intended to stop there to have a few words with Zelos, the alchemist. She steels herself and approaches Alaethea and who she remembers to be Mufias.

"Ah, here's the bard," greets Alaethea, visibly displeased in seeing the approaching blonde.

"Hello," says Gabrielle, allowing only sweetness in her voice.

"Alaethea and I were just discussing my absence from the drilling fields," says Mufias.

Gabrielle remembers not liking Mufias' tone at the dance a few days ago; the same is true now. "Oh?" she says, looking at Alaethea.

"Yes, and it's simply because my father did not wish it. He has unfortunately taken ill, and now I am free to train with Xena. If you'll excuse me, I need to go speak with Zelos about the medicine he has prescribed." Mufias leaves them without another word and disappears inside the apothecary. Alaethea also turns to walk away but Gabrielle stops her.

"Taking a personal interest in Xena's betrothed?" asks the bard.

"Yes, of course. Xena needs all the manpower she can get," answers Alaethea.

"Mufias hardly counts as manpower. Are you not hoping, just a little, that he'll die if he were to fight in battle?"

"I believe that's called projection, Gabrielle." Alaethea's eyes twinkle, and her full lips set into a smirk.

The memory of those lips crashing against Xena's invades Gabrielle's memory. She tries to swallow down her anger. "I need to talk to you," she manages. Gesturing to a nearby alleyway, Gabrielle leads a half-confused, half-intrigued Aleathea in her wake.

"You wondering where Xena was last night?" taunts the brunette.

"I know where she was," replies Gabrielle, not saying anymore.

"Then you must be trying to scare me off, then."

"No, there's no need to. Xena knows where her loyalty lies."

"Loyalty? Please. The woman is at the very whim of her desire."

"Now, yes she is," Gabrielle relents, "but you know she won't be in the future. She'll learn wisdom and control and love outside of your bastardizing influence."

"What are you talking about?"

"I know who you are, Alaethea, or should I say,  _Ares_ ," spits Gabrielle.

In an instant, the attractive brunette is laughing, and then her face is changing, her stature growing, her body thickening into the darkly handsome form of the God of War.

"Very clever, bard," he says, "I didn't think it would take you this long to figure it out."

"Have you always been inside that poor girl?" 

"Who? Alaethea? Nah, not always. Just when I saw Cortese on the march toward my chosen Warrior Princess, did I decide on a little... divine intervention. I can't inhabit a body without  _some_ consent of my host, though. The girl has been devoted to Xena all her life, obsessed some call it, so I saw an opportunity–– in this life  _and_ the other."

"So it was you who sent me here?" says Gabrielle, keen to learn the mystery of it all.

"Me? No no no, not me. I like to keep one eye on the Loom of the Fates just to see if anyone's messing around, you know. When I saw one of the gods had sent Gabrielle of Potidaea back in time, I had to check it out for myself. And I swear on my Father's throne," he pushes the bard violently against the wall and draws close to her face, "if you try to take away the  _one_  period of time where I had her in my grasp, I will reduce you to a smoking pile of ash." His pupils are dilated, but a fire dances in the color of his irises; a fire burns over the worlds unknown to mortal man.

"So you don't know who sent me?" says Gabrielle, trying not to blanch in the presence of a god so close.

"I'll figure it out and believe me, when I do, I won't be telling you," says Ares.

"Don't you think whoever did will make themselves known to me, the one they sent, before they do to you?"

"Maybe so, but Gabrielle," he says, backing up, "I am a god, and you are a bard."

Gabrielle holds his stare, not flinching.

"Oh, and take this bad seed back to her father, she'll be a little weak," says Ares. With that, there is a flash of brilliant light and all that is left is the crumpled body of Alaethea on the cobbled stone of the street. Gabrielle rushes to the girl's side, taking her head in her hands.

"Alaethea? Alaethea wake up!" says Gabrielle, shaking the girl's shoulders.

"Wh– what?" she moans. Once her eyes flutter open, she brings a hand up to her head. "My head is throbbing."

"Do you remember what happened?" asks Gabrielle, her voice impatient.

"Ares," says the girl.

"Yes, Ares."

"Oh gods, my body aches," she says, clutching her arms, her skin turning pale. Gabrielle slips an arm under her shoulders and lifts the woman into a sitting position.

"Can you stand? Come on, we'll take you to Zelos," says Gabrielle. She helps Alaethea up and supports her weight, half carrying her to the apothecary.

Once inside, the two lumbering women startle Mufias who is deep in discussion with old, wizened Zelos over a few vials in his hand.

"What's this?" asks Zelos, happy to have a distraction from Mufias.

"She's very weak, she needs a pain reliever," says Gabrielle.

"Bring her over here, child," he says, gesturing to a nearby cot. Gabrielle struggles with Alaethea, careful not to knock into any of the shelves holding thousands of multi-colored liquids in various jars and vials and stoppered tubes. "Mufias! Make yourself useful, boy," he says. Mufias jumps from his inaction and helps Gabrielle with Alaethea. They lay her down on the cot and Zelos kneels next to her, checking her vitals. "What happened?" he asks.

"I'm not sure," lies Gabrielle, "I think she fainted and hit her head."

"Is that what happened?" Zelos asks the sickly woman.

Alaethea looks briefly to Gabrielle, noting the expression on the bard's face. "Yes, it must be the weather."

"Frail girl like you would do well to drink more water," replies Zelos, getting up to rummage through his medicines. Mufias bids them all a good day, telling in much too long-winded a fashion that he had to go and tend to his father. With the alchemist distracted for the moment, Gabrielle kneels down next to Alaethea's side.

"Ares is a dangerous god," whispers Gabrielle, "you would do well not to get mixed up with him again."

"He brought Xena back to me," she says, her voice low, a sheen of sweat rising on her pretty face, "and I would do it all over again if I could."

"Foolish girl," says Gabrielle, "and if he did get her back? What do you think he would have done with you? Stayed in your body? He would have cast you away like wheat chaff like he's done now."

"If you hadn't called him out," she replies.

Zelos returns to her side, interrupting their conversation. "Here we go," he says, putting a small brownish liquid up to her lip, "Drink this and it'll take away the pain. Your mind will be a little fuzzy, but the pain will leave."

Alaethea drinks down the brown liquid, making a face at its taste. Within a moment, she sinks down onto the cot and quiets her moans and sighs.

"She'll be all right for now," says Zelos to Gabrielle, "you could leave her here for a bit and then come back to check on her."

She doesn't want to, but Gabrielle knows she should stay with Alaethea if not to see that she is okay, then to make sure that she doesn't say anything about Ares in her drugged up state. Besides, she did have a few things to talk to the alchemist about. "That's okay, I'd like to stay," she says.

Zelos nods, "Good friend she has in you."

Yeah right, thinks Gabrielle. She smiles uneasily.

From the cloudy vision of Alaethea's grey eyes, she sees the rough outline of a blonde woman talking to the hunch-backed old man in deep purple robes. The color around them is distended, looking like fanned auras. The blonde woman glows like an angel, casting all around her into shadow. Alaethea wants to call out to the angel. Help me! she pleads. Then, a bright wind sweeps through the opened door, rattling the glass jars and vials and a tall frame is silhouetted in the threshold. The figure sweeps down the aisles and walks into the angel's aura of light. The glow that results is blinding, so white a light that it makes one forget color. It is healing, redemptive light, the stuff of Elysian suns.

 _She will rip her away from you._ That voice deep as coal travels through Alaethea's body, makes her organs shudder at the sound.

 _I know_ , she answers.

 _Only I can get her back for you_ , says the voice.

 _I know_ , she answers.

 _Submit to me_ , says Ares.

Alaethea looks into the heavenly light.

 _No_ , she says.

 

"What happened?" says Xena, breathlessly. She must have run all the way from the southern pasture.

"She's fine," says Gabrielle at once.

"Did she hurt you?" asks Xena, grabbing the bard and checking her body for any injuries.

"Why do you ask?"

"I assumed you two got in a fight," admits Xena.

"We all don't resort to our  _hands_  to sort things out," drawls Gabrielle.

Xena has the grace to blush.

Zelos grasps Xena by the shoulder. "Young lady fainted," he said, "I gave her some Devil's Claw root. She'll be a bit loopy."

"I'll say," mutters Gabrielle. Xena nods and thanks the alchemist for tending to her. She asks him how much they owe for his medicine and Zelos shakes his head, says he's willing to help a friend of Xena and Gabrielle what with all the good they were doing for Amphipolis.

"Thank you Zelos," Xena says again, grasping his forearm, "We'll take her home."

With Alaethea draped in her arms, Xena and Gabrielle walk east toward the girl's home. She and her father lived in town, on account of her father being very ill. Her mother had died in childbirth and only Alaethea was left to care for her father. Their home was a very silent, very sad place. And unfortunately, its very bleakness had darkened its beautiful child.

"What really happened?" Xena asks, grunting some at her burden.

Gabrielle debates with herself for a moment. "I saw her in the market when I was going to meet you, and she looked ill. So I went to see what the matter was and she collapsed in my arms. Ask her yourself when she comes to," answers Gabrielle. No sense in telling her of the God of War's presence; it might fill her with intrigue and self-purpose. Ares himself, taking interest in a small peasant war? It would raise too many questions.

"Alright," says Xena, not really at ease, "I believe you. You know, Gabrielle, it was good of you to help her in spite of everything."

"I don't deserve any credit for that," says Gabrielle, throwing a menacing look at the unconscious girl.

Xena grunts.

"Anyway," Gabrielle continues, "how did you know I was at the apothecary?"

"Mufias came to the field and told me, suck up slug.".

"Oh, so he is good for something."

"Yeah, goosing," says Xena.

The bard laughs. "So you left the magistrates there?"

"Yeah, I handed 'em off to Lyceus," she says. They stop in front of a red clay stuccoed building.

"We better tell your mother that they're expecting a feast tonight," remembers Gabrielle.

"Already did," says Xena, smiling, "She went on a rant and I told her it was all your idea."

Gabrielle laughs and raises a hand to knock on the front door, but Xena shakes her head. "Just open it," she instructs, "Her father's bedridden."

 

Inside, it is dark and musky, a fire absent in the hearth. In the living room is set up a large goosedown mattress upon which lies a crippled old man. Beneath layers of blankets and with what seems like hundreds of scrolls scattered over their surface, he sits propped up by a dozen or so pillows. In his hand is an unfurled scroll over which he steadily moves his tired eyes. He doesn't notice the intruders until Xena is standing in front of him.

"Oh, Xena!" he startles, sending himself into a coughing fit, "Didn't see you there!" It is then that he realizes what she carries in her arms. "Alaethea!" he yells, almost toppling over himself onto the floor.

Gabrielle rushes forward and steadies him. "It's okay," says the bard, "she's all right. She was just dizzy and Zelos gave her a potion for it."

The man visibly settles down, situating himself back on pillows.

"I'm going to put her in her room. She'll be awake in a few hours," says Xena. Alaethea's father nods.

Gabrielle elects to stay in the living room and start building a fire for the frail old man.

 

Xena carries the brunette down the short hall and up a flight of stairs which leads to only one room. Inside, the room is a right mess. Fabrics and dresses and crumpled bits of parchment lay strewn over the floor. She moves deftly over to the single mattress on a rickety frame and deposits her burden onto its surface. Kneeling, she attempts to arrange the covers over her erstwhile lover. On the floor, however, she spots a drawing. The charcoal is smudged, but she can recognize the shape. Uncrumpling the parchment, Xena finds her own face looking back at her. It is drawn with quite some talent. Alaethea was always talented, remembers Xena.

"Xe–" comes a small, rough voice, "Xena."

The warrior looks down at her charge, noting those grey eyes open further and register what she held in her hand.

"They're all like that," says Alaethea, casting her eyes about the room, over all the crumpled bits of parchment. "I can't seem to find anything else beautiful anymore."

"Oh, Alaethea," says Xena, dropping the parchment to the floor, "I'm sorry."

"So am I," she says, then drops once more into unconsciousness.

Downstairs, Xena finds a roaring fire in the hearth and Gabrielle in the midst of a fascinating story from the look on the old man's face.

"...and so Leda lay helpless on the banks of the Aegean, Zeus' seed planted within her. She watched as the great, powerful swan gathered its majestic wings and prepared to take flight once more up into the heavens. And it is said that Leda gave birth to four eggs and in two of those eggs were Helen and Castor, and so Leda is said to be the mother of both love and war," finishes Gabrielle dramatically.

The invalid claps his hands together, his soft skin barely making a sound.

"We've got to get going," says Xena from the doorway.

"Your friend tells a wonderful story, Xena," he says, "please, child, come back to me some time. I would love to hear more. As you can see, I am a great lover of stories."

"I would like that," says Gabrielle, genuinely.

Xena has to pause a moment and allow a moment of awe. She glances to the hearth and thinks of Gabrielle, and how she can be a bright fire in the darkest of houses.

 

Outside, Gabrielle cannot help but lean into the solidly striding form of her friend. Responding, Xena slings an arm over the bard's shoulders and hugs her tight. They walk like that down the streets and the sky is an odd mixture of orange sunset and rain clouds as if it cannot decide whether to darken or to storm.

"Xena," says Gabrielle.

"Hmm?" 

"When I was with Alaethea's father just now, I happened to glance briefly at one of his scrolls. He's an amazing writer. Just a sentence I read... 'The morn, all beauteous to behold, Drawn by white steeds bound o'er the enlightened earth; At once from ev'ry Greek with glad acclaim Burst forth the song of war'. It was so beautiful and so sad. One sentence, huh? I wish I could write like that. Do you think people's tragedies make them more graceful?"

Xena grips the bard's shoulder, relishing their closeness. "Too deep for me, Gabrielle," she says. But really, she is saying yes, she thinks they do. "Better ask Lyceus."

"What's his name?" asks the bard.

"Aeschylus," replies Xena.

 

That evening, Cyrene's Inn is bursting forth with people. In fact, it had never seen this many patrons at one time. Word had spread throughout the counties, through Meride and Potidaea of this convention of warmakers, or was it peacemakers? They had set up the dining area with the head table situated on the raised platform of the second tier. At its head sits Xena, to her right Gabrielle, and next to her Lyceus. At Xena's left sits Aidos and then Themis and around them every villager this side of Thrace and their mother. The noise is a regular raucous, people talking heatedly and excitedly with one another. In fact, the energy of the gathered people amounts to a familial frenzy of appetites and swears and hearty laughs and beer being passed freely between tables filled with buxom ladies and bearded men.

Xena had explained to her mother that this dinner was important, that they needed the support of Aidos and Themis in order for their war strategy to work. And so Cyrene delivered, and boy did she deliver. Xena sinks back into her chair, happy to be part of it and happy to be at the center of it. When dinner had been reduced to a pile of chicken bones and olive pits, Xena leans over to Gabrielle.

"What about now?" she asks, impatience in her voice.

Gabrielle laughs and leans closer to Xena, their faces mere inches apart. Xena can smell a fragrant wine on the bard's lips and its effect is strangely arousing in the warrior. Although, if Xena would admit it, everything that bard did had a strangely arousing effect. They were both a little drunk, Xena muses, everyone was a little drunk. Perfect.

"Xena, let them enjoy the dinner," says Gabrielle, her eyes glazed.

"I've waited the entire dinner," retorts the warrior, "I don't see why we have to treat them with such extravagance, they should just join me and that's that."

"Oh, so everyone should just submit to you?" smiles Gabrielle.

"Everyone with whom I share wine," Xena purrs. Leaning in, she plants a quick kiss beneath the curtain of blonde hair, right beneath her jaw. Gabrielle swats playfully at a lock of Xena's long black hair.

"Easy, Princess," says Gabrielle, "I think it's time." She gestures with her eyes at Aidos, who seems to have taken an interest in the activities of the General and her Second. Xena fixes Gabrielle with an overtly desirous stare, then turns easily in her seat to Aidos.

"What say you?" she asks, skipping all formalities.

Aidos turns to Themis and they exchange a look between themselves. "It's a consensus, we pledge to join your campaign," he says.

Xena looks at Themis who also nods his head. "Good," is all Xena replies, as if she had known all along they had it in them to make the proper decision. Gabrielle feels a surge of joy rush through her. They would win the war, now she was certain. Xena had won it by herself, of course, having no reason in the previous life to save Meride and Potidaea. So, now, with their towns banded together, they were sure to defeat Cortese. Gabrielle leans across Xena and addresses the magistrates.

"We would like to extend our hospitality for the night," she says.

"And talk with you in depth come morning for plans and preparations," finishes Xena. The magistrates agree. "Great," says Xena, "now announce it to the people."

Aidos stands from his chair and holds up his hands, yet no one seems to notice him. The noise continues at a dull roar. He attempts to knock an eating utensil against a wooden cup. Then, he tries to whistle. Nothing works.

Gabrielle can see that Xena is highly amused. Lyceus ribs Gabrielle in the side. Eventually, Xena comes to his aide. She makes a show of pushing back her chair, standing slowly to her full towering height. In an instant, a quiet hushes over the people like admonished schoolchildren.

"That's better," says Xena, clearly drunk on her ego, "Aidos of Potidaea and Themis of Meride have an announcement for all of you."

At her side, Aidos clears his throat, looking a bit miffed. "By the honor invested in us by Zeus, king of all Gods, we magistrates of Potidaea and Themis pledge to aide Amphipolis in their war campaign against Cortese, the Butcher of Thessaly."

There is a deafening noise of acclamation among the people, and many cups of port and beer are clanged together in a toast. Somewhere, a fiddle starts to play and tables and chairs are moved for the purpose of dancing.

"We're gonna kill 'em all," mutters Xena, sinking back into her chair.

Gabrielle does not hear her over the noise. Instead, she leans over to Lyceus and hauls him up to go join the people dancing. Xena watches her young brother and her what?... friend, lover, bard, Brigadier? But in the warrior's sloshed mind, she doesn't care for labels anymore. If Gabrielle was close to her and loved her, that was all that mattered. She shuddered when she thought of this time last night in the river with Alaethea. How stupid. Glancing at Dimas a few seats down, she gets up from her chair. Interrupting his conversation with Leon, Xena stops at the back of his chair.

"Dimas," she says, "Come dance with me." Leon glances up at Xena and punches Dimas on the shoulder.

"Uh, yeah sure, Xena."

She sweeps down the stairs and Dimas follows her without a word.

 

The space they managed to clear for dancing is small and so people take to squeezing in the aisles and then end up on the tops of the tables. Three fiddles play in tandem and the result is a raucous jig, the walls of the Inn threatening to crash down in their vigor. It was all much more loose and bawdy than the dance at the town hall earlier that week. Here the Amphipolean women batted eyelashes at Meridean men and Potidaen women were lifted in the air by Amphipolean men. Why do people dance in a time of war? Gabrielle muses to herself as she is thrown from partner to partner. Her cheeks rosy with delight and drink, she only laughs at the man who stomps on her feet, trying to grab at her behind. In a blur of motion, the man disappears from sight and Xena is at once in his place. Xena grins and places her hands properly on Gabrielle's waist.

Together, they dance through the crowds, sweaty and stomping their feet, pressing so close together, and steadying each other with others knock brazenly into them. They pass a wandering tray laden with a large pitcher of half-drunk wine, of which surely everyone had taken a sip. Xena knows what this is.

"It's the drink of brotherhood!" Xena yells, "For luck!" Grabbing the pitcher, Xena flashes a smile to Vernix who had been bearing the chalice around and raises it to her lips. After taking a healthy swig, she wipes the back of her hand over her mouth. She offers the pitcher to Gabrielle. Eyeing her companion, Gabrielle raises the pitcher to her mouth and takes not one, not two, but three large gulps.

"To Brotherhood!" she shouts, raising the pitcher in the air. Those around her take up the toast and emit loud yells of accord. Someone jars Gabrielle in their zealous dance and some of the wine slops over the lip of the pitcher and drenches the sleeve of her tunic; it stains one side of her blonde tresses red. Xena darts a hand to grab the clumsy dancer's collar, but Gabrielle puts a hand on her chest which means let him go. Xena releases him, but with a scowl. She hands the pitcher back to Vernix and he makes his way through the rest of the crowd.

"Come on!" Xena shouts, "Lets go get you cleaned up." Gabrielle nods and follows the warrior through a jungle of people and furniture out the back of the Inn.

 

The springhouse water splashes into the trough. Xena sets the buckets down on the ground.

"Come here," she says, gesturing for Gabrielle to kneel.

In one motion, Gabrielle sweeps off her tunic and plunges it into the water. She is only in a shift underneath, its shoulder cuff bears a wine red stain.

"Clumsy fool," mutters Xena.

"It doesn't matter," giggles Gabrielle, "Now wash my hair."

Obliging, Xena carefully gathers the locks of red-blonde hair and waits as Gabrielle cranes her neck over the trough's edge. Xena dips her hair in the cool water and rinses it gently.

Laying with her ear down on the wood, Gabrielle can hear the amplified sounds of the water sloshing around. She looks up at Xena's jawline, the bared skin of her neck. Gods, what a beauty! she thinks. Suddenly, Xena looks down and catches Gabrielle openly admiring her. The bard can tell a blush when she sees one.

"All clean," says Xena, drawing her hair from the water. She fishes for the tunic a moment, then wrings out the water and hangs it over the side of the trough. Xena plops down again on the ground next to Gabrielle, breathless from her day and her longing and her drunkenness. She looks to the bard.

"Why do ya think people dance in a time of war?" asks Gabrielle.

Xena sighs at the question. But she's drunk enough to be a philosopher so she answers the bard. "Because dancing is like war, it is virile, it is desirous and it is spontaneous. Except no one ever died from a dance."

"Has anyone ever died of love?"

"I'm sure they have," replies Xena, "Dancing is safer. War, even, I think is safer."

"Then I'd rather die," says Gabrielle, "to have love."

In an instant, Xena's lips are on Gabrielle's. She pulls the bard into her lap and gathers her into one of the most impassioned kisses. If there were legions of poets to witness it, there would be inspired volumes of poetry for any and all lovers.

Gabrielle relishes the softness of Xena's lips and the incredible symmetry with which they fit with hers. For once, she casts that protesting voice of guilt away and allows herself to be swept up in Xena's winds. In a moment, tongues and hands and teeth are added and both women grasp in the dark at one another. Now standing somehow, Xena guides them carelessly to the wall of the springhouse. She puts her hands behind the backs of Gabrielle's thighs and lifts her up; Gabrielle wraps her legs around Xena's hips and they fall sloppily against the wall. Gabrielle, suspended between a rock and a solid body, buries her hands in Xena's thick, dark hair. She cranes her neck toward the beautiful warrior which she feasts upon with tongue and lips and teeth.

Xena must be a neck woman, thinks Gabrielle. Then, an image of these same lips raking down Alaethea's neck and down her bare chest flashes through her mind. The thought makes her moan aloud. Xena groans in response, slapping a hand on Gabrielle's strong thigh, moving up past the hem of her shift. Her lips seek out Gabrielle's once more. But she finds the lips clamped shut.

"Xena, stop," says Gabrielle, chancing one last nip at Xena's bruised bottom lip.

At once, the warrior releases her and sets her on the ground. Gabrielle straightens the hem of her shift, her hair dry on one side and wet on the other and mused beyond laughter. Xena does not look any better. Both breath heavily.

"I'm sorry," Xena begins, "I got carried away."

"So did I," admits Gabrielle, "I just don't know if––"

"No, it's okay. I understand."

They are quiet for a minute.

"Well, I guess this is good night," says Xena.

"Yeah, good night," says Gabrielle. They both take a clumsy step forward and tangle in each other. Xena steadies Gabrielle by the shoulder, then places a sweet kiss on her cheek.

"Good night, Gabrielle," she says, then turns and walks to her cottage.

 

That night, as warrior and bard slept in their separate beds, they both dream of a brilliant light filling their rooms and of voices filling their bodies.

 _Xena––_ says the disembodied voice, strong and feminine–– _wake now_ ,  _it is I, Artemis._

 _Gabrielle––_ sounds a deep, contemplative voice, ringing like diamonds–– _you must wake and listen to me. It is I, Athena._


	11. Chapter 11

 

 

**XI.**

The room is dark still, untouched by the rays of morning. So it is with confusion that Gabrielle finds herself waking into this darkness. That voice, it was so clear, and it rang through her body like bells in a temple. She searches in the dark for the disembodied voice, but all that greets her is a starless black curtain. Suddenly, a spark of fire flares into life, then settles on the wick of a candle. When her eyes adjust, she sees a dark-haired figure sitting in a chair near the window, booted feet propped up on the windowsill.

"Xena," she whispers. The young warrior is dressed in full battle attire: shin greaves and knee cops over her black boots, leather vest with the same intricately engraved tarnished buckles, arm bracers, and over one shoulder a besegew and a pauldron with a byzantium-colored tartan sash fixed to its shoulder clip. Leaning against her thigh, with its point resting on the wood of the floorboards, is her polished sword; and the same gleam is echoed in her blue eyes. She is exactly how Gabrielle pictured her as a young warlord.

Gabrielle startles into an upright position, drawing the sheets around her chest. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough to watch you dream," Xena replies in a low voice. Gabrielle wonders about the voice in her dream, and what it had to do with the warrior's inexplicable presence in her room. Had it really been Athena? What had she said? The words were blurring in her conscious mind, sinking back into the tide pool of her memory.

"I had an interesting dream myself," continues Xena, "I was in the forest, tracking a deer, when the goddess Artemis called out to me. She was a beautiful woman, and she walked toward me with the most well-crafted longbow I've ever seen, slung over one shoulder. Beside her walked the deer I was hunting. Yet, when she opened her mouth to speak, water came pouring out of her mouth and she dissolved into a puddle. So I got down on my knees and looked at what I thought was water, but it wasn't. Inside the puddle were thousands of stars, planets, and brightly colored clouds hurtling through the night sky. It was like I fell into the sky, into time itself. And as I was falling, another voice called out to me, a man's voice. He identified himself as Ares, God of War. I couldn't see his face, but his voice was the only thing that rid me of that 'falling' feeling. It was like his voice was a net that caught me..." Xena's voice floats up like a wisp of smoke into the air.

"Xena––" warns Gabrielle, but she trails off, the warrior's silence more disconcerting than her words.

"Ares had many interesting things to say," she begins again.

"Oh?" says Gabrielle. At that, Xena gets up from her chair, picking up the sword into her hand, and moves toward the bed. The tartan from her shoulder hangs low, trailing on the floor, and she makes at that moment a very elegant murderess. Once by her bedside, Xena stops.

"He said that  _all_  will fall under my sword, that he has chosen me as his warrior. Gods have but one mortal that they can bestow their utmost blessing, and I am Ares Chosen. Whole nations will unite under my rule, and with that, we can forge peace between them. Of course, he said he would only offer on one condition."

"And what is that?" Gabrielle's voice is fractured with fear. She does not recognize the look in Xena's eyes.

"That you must die. Which is such a shame," says Xena, "because you are very pretty."

Gabrielle leaps off the bed and grabs a candlestick for lack of a better weapon.

"Xena, this is madness!" says Gabrielle, brandishing the candlestick in defense.

Xena lifts her sword and runs a long finger down its blade. "Don't you see? This is for the greater good," she intones.

"He doesn't want to bring peace, Xena! He's the God of War, all he wants is bloodshed. He will  _ruin_ you!"

Xena's smile is that of a rabid dog. "You seem to know, don't you?" She inches toward Gabrielle.

"Yes! Please, don't do this!" pleads the bard.

"You lied to me," she says, "You have no gift of prophecy, just the gift of the future."

"Yes, I admit it. Xena, I'm sorry. I didn't want to lie, but I had no other choice––"

"Silence! You're trying to take the very best away from me! All my future accomplishments, all my power and wealth, all my loves––Borias, Marcus, Lao Ma, Akimi––and my child. You're going to take Solan away from me?"

"How, how do you...?" Gabrielle stammers. Ares must have told her everything. That bastard! her mind shrieks. Well if she has lost, then all she can do is take Xena with her. She charges at the warrior, catching her off-guard, and takes her hard down onto the floor. In an instant, as if by magic, Xena is on top of her on the bed with her forearm pressed over her throat. With the other hand, she delves beneath Gabrielle's shift and slides her hand up her thigh. The warrior's hand travels up over her breeches, settling at the apex of its seam. She can feel herself responding to the touch, feeling wet heat pooling into the material beneath the hand. Then, Xena is laughing, she is cackling maniacally, and her voice gains a deeper quality. And it is suddenly Ares speaking through Xena's lips.

"You see how easy it is, bard," he says, "how easily I can make her  _mine_."

 

With a jolt, Gabrielle awakens in her bed, a sheen of sweat clinging to her brow. She glances wildly around the room and finds the shutters open and a grey light pouring through. A dream, she breathes, it was all a dream. Raising herself shakily from the bed, she walks to the small washstand and pours water from a nearby pitcher into the bowl. Splashing the water onto her face, she focuses on calming her breath, taking solace in the clarity it brings her. It was only a dream. Or, was it?

She dresses quickly, opting to sweep her hair up into a loose knot instead of combing it into submission. Her head pounds and she can't tell if it's from the dream or the alcohol she had consumed last night. Probably a combination of both. Pulling open the door, she tries to puzzle it out for herself. She walks down the hall and nearly runs headlong into a person on the landing of the stairs.

"Oh!" says Gabrielle, feeling two hands steady her.

"I was just coming to wake you," says Xena.

Upon recent thoughts, Gabrielle shrinks from the young woman's touch. Xena immediately recognizes the tic, and a worried look crosses over her features. It is such a sharp departure from the murderous twist it took in her dream. "What's wrong?" she asks, concern evident in her voice.

"Just a nightmare," Gabrielle replies. Was it just a nightmare? She was certain Ares had invaded her dreams, that it wasn't just her subconscious fears lurking in the night. Perhaps it should serve as a warning. Perhaps it is time to explain things to this young Xena, for the burden of two worlds rest on the bard's shoulders. She wants the older Xena back, the one who got her out of every confounding mess. She knew that she could fall apart and her friend would be there to solve the puzzle and put her back together again.

"I had quite a dream myself," says Xena, "Athena came to me and gave me her blessing in this war."

"Athena?"

"Yeah. I don't put too much stock in dreams, but... Gabrielle, it felt so real."

"I'm sure it did." Gabrielle's mind is reeling, "Xena, we have to talk."

"Okay, but later. The magistrates are eating downstairs. We've got to go speak with them about our plans."

"It's important," she presses.

"So is this. Gabrielle, we've got three days to organize three ragtag village militias into an army."

Gabrielle looks down at her boots, many thoughts coursing through her mind. "You're right," she decides, "let's get it done then."

Xena smiles genuinely and quickly presses a trite kiss on the bard's cheek. "Was it one of  _those_ dreams," she asks, trying to hide her curiosity.

"In a way," answers Gabrielle, "but, we'll talk about it later."

Xena nods, and with that, they continue down the stairs and walk toward the dining area.

 

"Good morrow, Xena," says Aidos, getting up from his bench, "Gabrielle."

"I thought we might take a walk outside, gentleman," says Xena, glancing at Themis. Lyceus enters from the kitchens and lays a hand on Gabrielle's shoulder in greeting. They exchange a smile and follow the three others outside.

As they wander through the marketplace out toward the southern pasture, they see many people milling about. It looks like most of the townspeople had risen early to begin working on their various projects. Some, however, are still sleeping off their night in corners or draped shamelessly over stoops and merchant caravans. Perhaps it is the efficiency with which those awake villagers move or the purpose with which the magistrates stride in the early morning air, or perhaps it is in the tap-tap of Xena's boots on the cobblestone or the way she has squared her shoulders–– but there seems to be an air of urgency around them all, an attitude of united cause. This was a village preparing for war, Gabrielle can smell in on the air.

She listens to Xena talk to the magistrates as they walk. The young general explains the plan that she, Gabrielle, and Lyceus had all agreed to be the best route of action. Themis and Aidos are to send riders back to their own village to announce their defence, thereby giving the people more concrete news than just word-of-mouth. All able-bodied men and women are to be asked to travel to Amphipolis the next day to help aid in the cause. The remaining villagers are to glean as much as they can from their crop for winter stores and then raze their fields with fire. It is here, however, that Themis comes to an abrupt halt in their trek.

"You want us to do what?" he says.

"It's the only way. My people are doing it too. As we speak, all the grain is being transported to the town hall for safe-keeping––"

"And don't forget the cabbages," adds Lyceus.

Xena sends him a brief smile. "We can't let Cortese's men get their hands on any supplies," continues Xena, "we can't give them any advantage. Besides, if they try to lay siege then they'll be forced to send out hunting parties. And if that happens, we can wage guerrilla attacks and pick them off."

The magistrates nod at this, quieted by her logic. Lyceus, on the other hand, throws Gabrielle a look. His worry is echoed in the bard's face as well.

In a moment, they crest the hill overlooking the southern pasture. What Gabrielle sees astounds her. Down in the valley, fifty or so tents are perched and they can see men puttering about the property, starting fires for breakfast, some stretching themselves, others sharpening their knives and swords.

"Amazing," says Lyceus, coming up to stand next to his sister.

"Most of them arrived last night," says Xena, looking out at the display like a sultan would his harem.

"Do you think they're all here to fight?" asks Lyceus.

"Let's hope so," replies Xena, "Come on."

And so the five of them descend into the fray.

 

Upon Xena's arrival, the men come to attention. All the flaps of the tents open and they come pouring out in droves to see their commander pass by. It seems, by the judging of their faces, that Xena of Amphipolis has become some sort of fast legend. She is their deliverer and they look to her as men who would give up their lives at her word.

At the head of the camp, Xena stops, her entourage of elder men, brother and blonde bard stand next to her.

"All right, listen up!" says Xena. There is not a noise to be heard among the gathered troupe. "First of all, let me extend my thanks to you in arriving so quickly. That sort of dedication and purpose is what this army needs if we are going to defeat Cortese. Now, we are all from different towns, different cultures, and different ways of life. But, here, in these fields, we are brothers, united by a single cause: to protect our homeland." A cheer rises up among the men. "And I know we are not all warriors, we are farmers, tradesmen, merchants, fathers, sons. And let there be no mistake about it, this is war. There will be bloodshed and some of you may lose your lives. That said, there is no shame in leaving now to help aid our cause in some other way; we have need of many to help build the outer battlements. But if you choose to stay, if you choose to remain on  _my_  field, if you count yourselves among  _my_  soldiers, then you must be prepared to sacrifice all. Let us rise up as one, let us fight for our freedom from tyranny!"

Not a single man takes leave of that field and instead they raise their fists in a single salute at their commander's words. Gabrielle glances to Lyceus and she can tell he is as swept up in Xena's winds as everyone else. The bard has to admit, even she has a surging of pride in her friend.

"All right, now form up! Be prepared to drill until you bleed."

 

Xena and Gabrielle walk side-by-side among the ranks of sparring men. The warrior studies their movements with a careful eye, pausing to offer instructions or to change up sparring partners. Suddenly, there comes a rumbling noise from nearby.

"Is that your stomach?" asks Xena, turning to her Second.

"Uh... yeah," Gabrielle replies, "I didn't get a chance to eat breakfast."

Xena reaches into her leather satchel and produces a perfectly round, red apple. She offers it to the bard, which Gabrielle takes with charmed gratefulness. And so they continue to make their rounds, passing the apple back and forth to one another until it is merely a core. One man drilling at a post driven into the ground watches this exchange between the General and her Second. His name is Petracles and he is no fresh face in martial training. Still a young man, he traveled with a rough group outside of Meride for some years. But, Petracles had grown tired of youthful little rebellions; he hungered for a real taste of war. He yearned to prove himself in a bourgeoning army and therefore be able to rise steadily to the top. One look at Xena and he nearly rubbed his hands together in greed. A young woman leading an army, he thought, so easily charmed out of her power. This was going to be easy.

Abandoning his drilling post, he walks with purpose toward his general.

"Hail, Xena," he says.

The dark-haired woman turns, a look of steeled interest in her arctic blue eyes. My, she is a beauty, Petracles admits to himself. Her blonde-haired Second also turns at his voice and there is a show of shock in her eyes. Glancing briefly at her, Petracles sinks into a respectful bow in front of Xena.

"And you are?" she asks, her voice dripping in superiority.

"My name is Petracles of Meride, at your service," he says, keeping his tone smooth as honey.

"Well, what can I do for you Petracles?" asks Xena.

"I was wondering if I might be able to discuss a few strategies with you, at your convenience," he says.

Xena laughs briefly, "Thanks, but no thanks. I've got my tactics in place." With that, she turns, intent on wasting no more time with this handsome pseudo-tactician.

"You think he's attacking from the north, don't you," he calls at her retreating back.

Xena pauses, then turns back around with a scowl on her face.

"Keep talking," she says, approaching him once more. Petracles smiles, he's got her right where he wants her.

"I have firsthand knowledge that he plans to attack from the hills in the west. You see, Xena, Cortese has heard tell of your little peasant uprising and he's not taking any chances."

"Oh no?" Xena's eyes are hard as diamonds.

"No, he intends to make an example of you and quash you like an insect."

"Is that so? Well now, Petrified, how did we come by this information?" In an instant, Petracles' arm is twisted behind his back and Xena has a dagger pressed against his throat. Gabrielle steps back from the exchange, not knowing what she can do. This, of course, is the same Petracles that she had met in the future, the same man who had charmed Xena and convinced her to marry him, only to betray her in the end. Things just keep getting more and more difficult, she worries.

"A friend of mine," says Petracles, not a trace of fear in his voice. He talks with a knife at his throat as one would over a cup of tea.

"What friend?" Xena grinds, yanking his arm further upward. He makes a sound at that, wincing through his teeth.

"I used to ride with Zagrius and his boys. Couple of them joined up with Cortese in the last season, heard he was making quite a killing out in Thessaly. My friend Ferus takes to too much drink, and he bragged to me about Cortese's plans."

"Why would a common thug know of his warlord's plans so far in advance?" Xena says, still not releasing her hold.

"Ferus was Second to his Lt. and ate most of his meals in the command tent. Fool has a loose tongue."

"Loose as yours?" Xena drawls close to his ear.

"Let me go and I'll tell you why," promises Petracles.

Xena sneers and pushes him away. The young man shakes out his arm, flexing it back and forth to get the blood moving again.

"Quite a hold you got there," he smiles.

"Tell me why," she says.

"Isn't it obvious? Cortese is going after my town too. When I heard Xena of Amphipolis was gathering an army for defense, I packed up and rode out to join her. I figured I had  _important_ information for her."

"Why should I believe you?" says Xena.

"I have no reason to lie. Don't insult my patriotism."

"Patriotism?" It is here that Gabrielle finds her opening and she seizes on it, interrupting their cozy cat-and-mouse game. Petracles turns his attention distractedly to Gabrielle.

"Yes, Meride is in danger. I seek only to defend her," he answers.

"This is my Brigadier, Gabrielle of Potidaea," says Xena, but both brush past the introduction.

"You rode with Zagrius?" asks Gabrielle, intent on setting the trap.

"Sure, for a time," he answers.

"Didn't Zagrius lead a little band of rebels that launched attacks on the southern coastal towns? Nothing big, mind you, just some looting and childish pranks. You blew up that abandoned silo in Meride didn't you?"

"What? A silo?" says Petracles. Gabrielle had no idea if indeed a silo was among Zagrius' victims, but she had to try and draw him out somehow.

"Yeah, and you called yourselves something–– Pink Ribbon Rebels, Pussy Cat Studs, what was it?"

"Black Rebel Riders," Petracles spits. Xena raises an eyebrow, trying to hold in her laughter.

"Ah, so you admit it?" triumphs Gabrielle.

"Sure, so I did cause some havoc. So what? I'm here now. Can't a man change his mind?"

Gabrielle's face falls.

"Sure they can," says Xena, stepping forward into the conversation, "Petracles, I'd like you to join me in my command tent tonight and we'll see if your  _strategy_ has any merit."

Petracles shoots Gabrielle a cocksure look. Xena slaps a hand on his chest and drags him close to her face, "Just so you know, rebel," she sneers, "I don't trust you." She releases him, turns on her heel and walks away.

Catching up to Xena's long stride, Gabrielle hurries and places a hand on her elbow.

"Xena, wait!" she says.

"What?" she says, a deep frown etched on her face.

"I don't trust him either," says Gabrielle.

"Yeah, well, if what he says is true, then we need to re-think our entire Hades-be-damned plan."

"So we will," reassures the bard. Xena looks down at her companion and gathers strength from those warm eyes. Suddenly, Gabrielle's face breaks into a smile.

"You asked him to meet you in your command tent," she giggles.

"Yeah, I'm gonna need one of those," Xena relents, showing a lopsided grin. Then, she is serious once more. "But, Gabrielle, that's just another thing I didn't know. I must look like a babe in armored nappies to some of these guys. Well, you heard them, some are even hired guns, professional soldiers. I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Relax," Gabrielle says, stopping their hurried pace, "you're doing fine. Don't let Petracles get to you. Look, we'll meet with him tonight and listen to what he has to say. Then, we can go from there. Let's just be cautious."

Xena doesn't look convinced, but she smiles fleetingly for the bard's sake. She puts a hand atop Gabrielle's blonde head and ruffles her hair, "What would I do without you, huh?"

"Worry yourself to death, I guess. I'll take care of the tent and you just go help Lyceus with the drilling, okay?"

"Okay," says Xena.

 

The day went long and hard, and the Merideans, the Potidaeans, and the Amphipoleans worked together to help bring the town closer to a soundly equip battlement. Gabrielle had finished erecting a command tent with the help of a few men and had a table and chairs brought in, along with candles and all their maps and drawings of the area. She also arranged with Cyrene that a keg of wine and a food platter be brought come dinner time for Xena and the men that planned to meet with her there. Then, she ventured back over to the hospice and oversaw the activities there for a while.

When the sun sat high in the western skies, the bard began making her way through town toward the southern pasture. On the dirt path leading up past the oak tree, she spots Lyceus on the crest. He waves a hand toward her and she is reminded of that sunny day just a week ago when they had romped through the fields full of sheep and not soldiers. How much has changed in so little time, she muses.

"Ho there," greets Lyceus, smiling.

"What did you call me?" says Gabrielle, feeling infected by his good nature.

"Figure of speech," he replies.

For a moment, they look at each other in the fading light. He looks so much like his sister, she thinks, but he couldn't be more different. Perhaps this is why Xena loves him so. Between the two, they create in each other a perfect balance. "I uh," Lyceus clears his throat, "I was just going to the Inn to grab dinner for Xena's little war party."

"Yeah, she's got us running around like slaves," laughs Gabrielle.

"Ah, we are but poor vessels for the Warrior Princess' will," he intones with mock-gentility. But something in his words makes the teasing disappear from the bard's eyes. They walk a little further up onto the crest to peer down at the men still going strong in their sword drills.

"It scares me a little," Gabrielle admits.

"Me too," says Lyceus, "but it's necessary, right?"

"Right..." she says softly. Suddenly, she turns to Lyceus with a flourish, pain evident in her green eyes.

"I don't want you to fight," she says.

Lyceus is taken aback at the conviction with which she utters it. "Gabrielle––"

"No, listen to me. Helping Xena strategize is good, helping to lead the drills, that's all good. But, Lyceus, when Cortese comes I want you to stay with the others in the hall."

"Surely  _you_  intend to fight?" he accuses.

"Yes, I do. But, you're different. You're more important," Gabrielle says.

"More important than Xena? Than Dimas, and Ganix and all the others who are willing to die in this war? I don't think so."

"Please, you have to understand, Lyceus, you cannot fight. If you love me, then you won't fight."

"How dare you," he bites, "how dare you use my love as leverage."

"I'm not. It's because of your love that I ask this. Look, I'm going to tell you something and you have to promise not to tell  _anyone_ , especially Xena."

Something in those watery green eyes draws him in like a ship to the Sargasso bay.

"What is it?" he asks, his voice gentler.

"I... I have visions." She toes the dirt of the path, avoiding his eyes.

"What sort of visions?" he says.

"Visions of the future. So, Lyceus, you must trust when I say these things, that I am doing it with the knowledge of those visions."

"What sort of knowledge? What's going to happen?" He takes the bard's shoulders in his hands.

"I shouldn't say––"

"You must." His blue eyes are deadly serious.

Gabrielle takes a deep breath, hoping that this is a good decision. "In the vision, Cortese attacks Amphipolis. After a long battle, Xena emerges victorious, but not without cost. And this cost is the dearest one paid, one that will tear at Xena's soul, ruin your family, and lead her on a very dangerous rampage. She'll gather an army and sack the surrounding towns, she'll move on to capitols and overthrow kingdoms, she'll sail over seas and raid ships and coastal villages. Many will die and Xena will commit many crimes against many people and all in the name of protecting Amphipolis. Do you know what that cost was, Lyceus?"

The dark-haired young man looks to Gabrielle, fear evident in his eyes at the bard's meaning. "My life," he answers.

"Yes," Gabrielle replies, the word breaking her heart.

"My death really makes her do all that?"

"It does. So you see, you can't fight. You have to keep yourself safe."

"Xena will never understand if I don't fight," he says, looking out over the practice fields.

"I'll make her understand," pleads Gabrielle, "now, please, do this not for my sake, but for Xena's and all those people that she might harm."

"How do I know you're not making all this up?" he asks.

"Could I? Have I ever given you reason to believe that I am a liar?"

"No, you haven't," he admits.

"Then promise me."

Lyceus looks back to Gabrielle, the sun's last rays sending her blonde hair swimming into every shade of gold. She looks like an angel, he thinks. With this information, he's half-tempted to believe that she is one.

"All right, I won't fight," he says.

At the word, Gabrielle throws her arms around Lyceus and hugs him close. Taken aback a little, Lyceus stands there with a bard attached around his neck, so he wraps his own arms around her small frame and takes comfort in her scent and in her arms. He cannot believe the strength of love; it surges through him like a team of stallions and envelopes every darkened corner of his body. If strength can be found in love, then it can be found absent the battlefields. If she will never be mine, he thinks, then at least I have this moment.

 

"All right talk," says Xena, picking up a chicken thigh. She bites into it with careless manners, raising an eyebrow at Petracles. They are all gathered in the tent Gabrielle had managed earlier and are enjoying a field meal of bread, cheese, meat, and wine. The arrangement is a little different than it was last evening at the Inn. Xena sits at the head of the table, and at the other head sits Petracles; on either side are situated Gabrielle, Lyceus, Dimas, Ganix, Themis, Aidos, and Petracles's man, Eros, the latter of which kept offering the bard lascivious stares.

"I've come up with a way to prove my veracity, Xena," begins Petracles, taking a slow sip of his wine.

"Oh, have you?" Xena drawls.

Gabrielle can tell her friend is getting a rise out of her rank.

"Yes, here is what I propose: I say that I have it on good authority that Cortese will be attacking from the west, then I'll risk myself and a small squadron to cover the northern walls. If he attacks from the north like you think he is, then it'll be my head first. If he attacks from the west, then nothing is lost and me and my squadron will come to reinforce you on the west."

Xena pauses a moment, surveying the meatless chicken bone pinched between her thumb and index finger. "Either you think I'm stupid, or I know you're stupid," she says.

"What do you mean?" he utters, clearly aghast that his proposition was being turned down.

"You think I would give you command of any of my men without even knowing if I can trust your few words? You must be crazy."

"I must be, for my insane underestimation of your intellect." His words are strangely sincere and their sincerity touches something in Xena.

"All right, Petracles, I believe you. However, there's still no need for you to take command of any men. I'll just have to be wary about the direction of Cortese's advance."

"Your will," he says, slyly laying a hand over his heart. Gabrielle catches Xena's eyes over the table. Xena raises her eyebrows in innocence. Just then, the flap to the tent swings aside to admit Vernix and Cyrene.

"Sorry, Xena, I didn't mean to interrupt your party, but they're setting the fields soon. Thought you might want to be present for it," says Cyrene without any pretense. Xena nearly growls in response. It just won't do to have your mother interrupting a dinner with your military subordinates. Cyrene merely stares at her daughter, raising that characteristic eyebrow.

"All right Ma, we're just about finished here," says Lyceus. They all begin rousing themselves, pushing back their chairs and gathering cloaks against the chill of the evening. Eros brushes past Gabrielle, raising his bushy eyebrows and licking his lips. The bard fixes him with the most non-encouraging of looks and abandons the creep as he walks out of the tent after Petracles. Lyceus takes his mother's arm with a fleeting look to Gabrielle and continues out with the others to walk up to the northern pastures and steppes where most of Amphipolis' crops grew.

In a moment or two, it is only Xena and Gabrielle left in the tent. Gabrielle is gathering the forgotten dinnerware and scraping the food together onto one plate. Xena walks up behind her and encircles her waist with her arms. Gabrielle stands up into her embrace.

"Good job with this place," says Xena, gesturing around them, "it looks like a real general's tent. Now I just have to get my mother to stop barging in like it was a clubhouse."

Gabrielle laughs gently, then turns in Xena's arms. "Yeah, what would the men say if they find out the Warrior Princess has a  _mother_."

"Shh, they'll hear you," she whispers.

Acting upon instinct, or perhaps trying to reward Xena's playful attitude, Gabrielle stands on her tippy-toes and presses her lips on the warrior's brow.

"Hey," says Xena, releasing a hand from Gabrielle's waist and swatting her away, "it'll be worse if they see that."

"Xena, are you sure you can trust Petracles?" says the bard, suddenly.

"No, but I could do with his experience. He's a smart guy, however pompous."

"All right, if you think it's wise. Don't go falling in love with him though."

"Gabrielle," says Xena, enunciating her name, "I couldn't fall in love with him."

"Oh, and why not?"

"Because I'm too busy falling in love with you."

And with that, Gabrielle thinks neither one is surprised when their lips meet in a very simple kiss.

Xena's eyes are a dazzling blue when they part, and her voice is gentle as rain when she says, "You wanted to talk to me about something this morning?"

This jars the bard out of her reverie. "It can wait," she says rather breathlessly, "we should get up to the fields."

"Yes," says Xena, once more pressing her lips to the side of the bard's head.

 

They walk through the night, hand-in-hand, and part only when they hear the voices of a great many gathered people in the northern pasture.

"She's here!" someone shouts. Gabrielle spots Cyrene, Vernix, Lyceus, and even Toris standing nearby. She tugs on the warrior's arm and they join her family. A few men stand with torches in hand near the gleaned stalks of the crop, corn husks dry and brittle, withered leaves of cabbages, the remaining bushels of hay, the dried leaves of potato shoots. They had gathered all that they could in the time they had. It would have to last them. Xena realizes suddenly that they're waiting for her order and so, with a brief hand gesture, she signals for them to light the fire.

The flames catch quickly and sweep like a wind through the fields and, in a few moments, the whole pasture is lit up in a sea of fire. The flames illumine the faces of those gathered. It seems the whole town had gathered for this spectacle and it occurs to Gabrielle how much this event means. Maybe it's the families rooted together, and the children standing at their parents' waists, and husbands and wives with their arms around each other, that brings tears to the bard's eyes. And as all their labor and livelihood go up in smoke, many of those people feel tears in their own eyes. She sees Mufias supporting his ill father, a blanket thrown around Legas' shoulders. She sees Adelphe and her four children pressed to her skirts. She evens see Alaethea kneeling next to a chair wherein sits Aeschylus, beneath another blanket, the flames reflected in his glass spectacles. Gabrielle glances to Cyrene as the matriarch puts either arm around Toris and Lyceus, then as Lyceus puts an arm around Xena, and then the warm weight of Xena's arm around her waist. And together they watch the fields burn.


	12. Chapter 12

 

**XII.**

The night sky shakes with thunder and dark clouds brighten in violent shrieks of lightning. The winds turn the clouds around in a wild gyre atop a distant mountain peak, and rocks tremble in their caves. Hades himself would say how he felt the bowels of the earth quake under Olympus that day.

"You did  _what_?" came the low, ominous voice of the King of Gods. Zeus stands from his seat on the Olympian throne and descends onto the marble floors of his palace to where his children stand locked in heated debate.

Athena looks up at her father's voice, her eyes a transparent blue veil which pierce through time and heavens.

"For the sake of our longevity!" she defends, all the thunder of the storm in her voice.

"Are you telling me," Zeus demands, advancing on his daughter, "that you re-wove the tapestry of Fate to send a bard back in time to dissuade a future warlord?"

"You know what the Fates have decreed!" says Athena.

Ares steps in between them, a hand on either of their chests.

"You know how the hags like to twist their words," mediates Ares. He looks to Artemis for her support, but she remains stoic in her dislike of him.

"What could be more plain, Ares?" says Athena, "Gabrielle already gave birth to the child of Dahak. That child will bring darkness to our world! And you know the rules of Death. Father, this must make sense to You, You who can see all things."

"I would have Celesta herself testify to your words," says Zeus.

In a flash of light, Death herself appears before them, hovering ethereally with a glowing candle in hand.

"I have been summoned?" says Celesta.

"Yes, I'm sure you know of Athena's scheme, more Supreme Powers know how it got all over Olympus without my knowledge of it. Is it true what she says? Must one of the two mortals die this day?"

"I know of what you speak," replies Celesta, her voice a loon's song, "you speak of Xena, the Warrior Princess, and Gabrielle, her bard. Gabrielle is traveling the hollows of time to the day I must take Xena's young brother, Lyceus, away. Athena intends to replace the boy's life with the bard's."

"It's ridiculous!" emits Ares, pounding his fist upon a marble pillar, "If the blonde dies a martyr, Xena will never follow me! She'll want to honor her with peace or some tripe like that."

"And I should say it is ridiculous to take the life of a mortal so destined for greatness," says Artemis, breaking her contemplative silence, "Gabrielle is my Chosen, as you know. She'll lead the Amazon Nation to glory once more."

"Uh, and Xena is  _my_  Chosen," adds Ares.

"This is far more important than your Amazons, Artemis, or your lust, Ares! It goes far beyond trying to influence them in dreams!" roars Athena.

"Quiet!" booms Zeus, "Celesta, explain to us why it must be the bard that dies."

"It does have to be Gabrielle who takes Lyceus' place in death," reveals Celesta, "and Lyceus will take Gabrielle's place in life. You see, Death is bound to Fate. And so, if two mortals are bound by Fate––as Lyceus and Gabrielle are––then when one dies, so the other must live. Both, however, are connected to the Fate of the Warrior Princess as well. And so whatever actions bard and brother do deeply affect Xena's lifepath."

Ares crosses his muscled arms over his chest and stares murderously in Death's face.

Athena steps forward and addresses the King of Gods. "So you see, Father," she says, "in order to prevent the child of Dahak entering this world, I need to kill Gabrielle. And I need to kill her in this frame of time. It is the only way to do so without severely misaligning the threads in the tapestry of life."

Zeus turns his back on his lesser gods and takes a seat once more on the throne. He casts his ancient eyes out the windows of his palace, at the darkly brewing skies and thinks of his creation, the humans. What complex creatures they are, and how strange that they should affect their creators so strongly. Once more, he turns his eyes back on Athena, Ares, Artemis, and Celesta and draws a long breath.

"This is the only way?" he poses to no one in particular, "So be it."

"It is not!" screams Ares, a crack of lightning unsettling the foundation of the mountain. Artemis, instead, turns on Athena. The two goddess glow with fury at one another.

"You have made an enemy of me Athena," she says in a conspiratorial tone.

"And of me," says Ares. Athena merely raises her eyebrows, adjusting the gilded silver diadem on the crown of her head.

"I'm doing this for all our sakes," she says cooly, "for all our lives."

With that, she disappears in a sharp crack of energy, leaving the four remaining gods to stand in the hallowed halls of Olympus.

 

Cloaked in sheepskin, Gabrielle walks in the northern woods of Amphipolis. Even from this distance, she can hear the clash of swords from the drilling fields, the sounds of hammers on wood from the northern wall. She had witnessed a mass migration this morning on the western roads leading from Meride and Potidaea, droves of people heading to this town to join Xena and her campaign. Aside from the legions of Rome, Gabrielle had never seen such an amassed army. It seemed to grow like a beast, an insatiable beast. She had helped create this monster alongside Xena and she herself was the direct cause of its existence. Since when was she in the service of war-making? She kicks at a root that had peeked above the soil on her path.

She needed to get away from the heat of it all and so she finds herself walking through the trees, trying to absorb their peace. It will not come, however. She worries about all the people migrating from her village, all the people who wouldn't recognize her and thereby scandalize her history further. She worries about the conversation she needs to have with Xena, about the conversation she's already had with her brother. It's all too much! Atlas has nothing on me, she thinks, for he only holds up one world and I, two.

Dropping beside a large fir tree, she leans against its trunk in breathless anxiety. She regrets not bringing any parchment with her if only to write down some of her thoughts to stop them terrorizing her mind. She has nothing, however, but the cool stormy breeze traveling in from the sea, and its movement through the trees, and the songs of native birds, and the leaves rustling and falling, the scurrying of forest creatures and the beating of her own heart.

Life, that is the key, she thinks. If I can grasp both hands onto this Life, its force will carry us through. Isn't that what it is all about, all this war, and suffering and labor and death: Wasn't it all for Life? Wasn't it for Xena's life and for all those future lives she would take, and for Lyceus' life? She thinks it is and her heartache and fear will not lessen its worth.

At the moment of her enlightenment, however, a bright flash echoes her thoughts. In a glorious wind that rolls through the trees, and in a tumult of leaves, there appears before Gabrielle the goddess Athena. The bard sinks to the forest floor, her face pressed down in reverence.

"Arise, noble Bard," says the goddess.

"Goddess Athena," whispers Gabrielle, in awe. She stands to her feet and looks the Goddess of Wisdom and Warfare in the eye. Xena certainly has nerves of steel, thinks Gabrielle, for staring down gods with such ease.

Athena looks away from the bard's stare, unwilling to subject herself to the sad eyes of a sacrificial lamb. It did pain her unpleasantly to be so cruel to one so undeserving. So it is not with joy that Athena relates to the young bard the decision that had been reached on Olympus. She watches the woman listen to her Fate with more stoicism that she expected from so young a person. And when she is finished, Athena is surprised when the woman does not beg and grovel for her life. Nor does she vault insults at the gods.

"I must die," says Gabrielle quietly; she looks through the trees toward Amphipolis.

"It is Fate," says Athena.

The young woman is in profile and only her chin trembles as tears begin to find a gentle path down the slope of her cheek. She turns to the goddess and opens her mouth to speak, but the words seem to be caught in her throat. She takes a calming breath, and once more addresses the goddess.

"Please," she says, "please can I have one more day with her?"

It is here that Athena allows herself a small smile, as she knows this is the part that will ruin Ares. "In fact, I would have to insist," says Athena, "You must fall in battle, Gabrielle, and thus fall a martyr to your cause. If you have played your hand correctly, concerning the young Warrior Princess, and are sure of her love for you–– surely, she will lay down her sword for the sake of peace. You see, we all get what we want. No Dahak, no War."

"For life," Gabrielle whispers.

"Yes," says Athena, "for life."

 

 

That evening, Xena sits in her command tent, alone with a series of maps scattered before her on the table. Outside are the sounds of soldiers drinking and conversing around small campfires, the sounds of pan flutes and jolly folk songs in the deep baritones of bearded men. But Xena hears none of this frivolity and instead concentrates her full attention on the map of Thrace before her. No matter where she places a legion of men, Cortese will still have the advantage of higher ground in the western hills. Of course, he would attack from the west, she thinks, how stupid to think otherwise. The north is really the most direct route from the main port where Cortese and his men will surely have to dock, and it would the most obvious avenue to attack unsuspecting villages. However, Cortese is not treating Xena like a defenseless village, but an army to which he must strategically outsmart. Now that Xena accepts this rather daunting aspect to her defense, she knows that the only way to ensure Cortese doesn't go after Meride and Potidaea first is to send out formal declarations of war. She will have to send out a rider and request that Cortese engage in battle with the army of Amphipolis.

At that, there is a movement outside the entrance to her tent and she finds Petracles pulling back the flap.

"Commander," he bows, a cheeky smirk on his face.

"What do you want?" bites Xena.

"Just to offer my services if need be. The men say you've been cooped up in here for hours trying to re-strategize."

"You're very arrogant."

"Arrogance is found in many great men, and in many great women," he drawls, advancing closer to his general. He leans over the table to take a better look at her markings on the map, but she snatches them away from his prying eyes.

"You forget your place," says Xena, her voice pure ice.

"Yes, a poor hoplite. But, you and I both know that I am more than a foot soldier. Give me a chance Xena, I could prove to be very  _useful_  to you." He stresses the word.

Xena regards him for a moment, a choice playing in her eyes. "All right, Petracles," she says, taking a seat in her chair across from the standing man. She rests her elbows on the map and places her fingers together in a steeple. "I've got something in mind for you."

"Say it and see it done," says Petracles.

"You have friends in Cortese's army, don't you?" she asks.

"Yes, I believe so."

"Then, your life wouldn't automatically be forfeit if you were to deliver a message to their camps?"

"Perhaps not," he says, "what is the message you wish me to deliver?"

"That I, Xena of Amphipolis, Commander of the Thracian Army declare war on Cortese, the Butcher of Thessaly."

Petracles smiles at that. "Which will lead him straight to Amphipolis," he finishes, "Consider it done Xena, when shall I ride out?"

"Tonight, he's camped near the northern port. It should take you a night and a morning's ride to intercept him," she says. Then, in a catlike movement, Xena launches herself across the table and grab the front of Petracles' leather vest. She pushes her face close to his, so he can taste her breath on his lips.

"Do not betray me," she whispers dangerously, "or I will hunt you like a demon."

"Aye, Xena," he manages. She releases him and he pats down his vest, managing a warm trickle of laughter.

"Spitfire aren't you?" he says. And Xena is about to give him another example of just how hot her temper can burn, when Lyceus walks into the tent, with a tray full of food. He stops when he sees the two.

"Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt," he says.

"It's all right," says Petrcacles, throwing a look at Xena, "I was just on my way out."

"Giddy-up," says Xena and Petracles disappears out of the tent.

"What was that about?" asks Lyceus, setting the tray down on the table.

"I sent him off to Cortese with our declarations," she answers, taking her seat once more.

"Petracles?" says Lyceus, his eyebrows raised, "Are you sure that's wise?"

"I'm not sure of anything anymore," she admits.

Lyceus takes a goblet from the tray and sets it in front of his brooding sister. From the jug, he pours a healthy amount wine first in Xena's cup, then his own.

"Drink up," he says, nudging the wine closer to Xena's hand.

"You taste this stuff for poison?" she asks.

"Xena, for the gods' sake, you're no Warrior Queen."

"I know," says Xena, taking a hunk of bread from the tray, "it was a joke."

Lyceus admits a small laugh for her benefit, "I didn't know you knew how to joke anymore."

Xena allows a sad smile, "Listen, I know I've been acting too big for my boots lately. But this thing has grown larger than me or you and anyone thought it would. And so I have to act just as large."

"I know, Xena. I know you're doing what's necessary," says Lyceus.

At that, Xena smiles and shakes her head. "I couldn't do it without you though," she says, bestowing a warm gaze on her brother.

"Ah, Xe––" he deflects, tossing a hand at her sentiments.

"No, it's true. You've been there beside me the entire way through. And to know that you'll be there beside me when Cortese comes is the greatest comfort."

It is here that Lyceus has to look away, feeling pain at his sister's words. He looks down, his dark curls falling and obscuring the blue of his eyes; he pinches the bridge of his nose. Xena knows what these mannerisms mean.

"What's wrong?" she asks, the utmost concern in her voice.

Her brother does not answer her. "Lyceus, come on, you know you can tell me anything. I'm your sister." She hears an inaudible mumble from his mouth and she cranes an ear to make out the words. "I can't understand you," she says.

"I can't fight," he says, finally.

"Lyceus," Xena begins, "we all feel fear––"

"It's not that," he cuts across, raising his eyes to meet his sister's.

"What do you mean?"

"Please, Xena, just listen to me for once," he says, his eyes bright with apology and wounded pride.

But Xena cannot allow herself to understand that which has not been properly explained to her. "All those years sparring," she starts, "all those war games we played, all the planning we've done, all the words you've said, all the pledges you've made me, and  _you don't want to fight_?"

"Please––"

"How will it look if my own Lieutenant, my own  _brother_ , is a coward?" she explodes, standing from her chair.

"I want to fight!" he yells, "But I can't!"

"This sounds like something Toris, or even Gabrielle would put you up to," spits Xena, rounding the table and coming to a halt in front of an also standing Lyceus. She does not have the advantage of height over her brother, so their stares meet levelly in the air. "Think to whom your allegiances are, brother."

With a smoldering look, Lyceus answers, "I am." And with that, he disappears out the flap of the tent. With a powerful round kick, Xena breaks the back off of the empty chair.

 

Outside, through the row that leads to the command tent, Lyceus unknowing rams a shoulder into Gabrielle on his angry stalk through the camp.

"Woah, Lyceus," says Gabrielle, steadying him by his shoulders.

Lyceus is too angry to notice her tear-stained cheeks or the defeat with which she was walking on her path.

"You said you would explain it to her," he growls, "Try doing that now." He does not wait for her response and merely continues on his way back to the Inn, or perhaps to the drilling post to take some of his frustration out with steel on wood.

 

In the splinters of wood, stands a seething warrior princess, trying to regain her beastly breath. And when the flap to her tent reveals a certain blonde bard, she cannot welcome the peace the woman affords. In her anger, she does not notice the few steadying breaths that Gabrielle takes into her lungs or the steady resolve that washes over her face.

"What's the matter," she asks Xena.

"Lyceus doesn't want to fight," she manages, "the cowardly little weasel. Everything he's ever said is a lie. Honor, glory, no fear of death, it's all tosh, horse shit. He pledges an oath to  _me_ and expects me to take his betrayal with a smile! He's insane."

"Xena, calm down," says Gabrielle, chancing a touch on the warrior's arm.

The touch serves only to shock the warrior into a further tirade of insults and swears. She tears to her desk and begins hastily rolling the maps up, only to crumple most of them in her anger. "He'll make me lose face in front of my men, and then our family will be shamed. How dare he!"

"Is that all you think about?" yells Gabrielle, effectively silencing the young rebel, "Your men? Your power? Since when has the opinion of others mattered more than your brother? Has it ever occurred to you that Lyceus might have a good reason that he hasn't shared with you?"

"And what would that be?" says Xena, still on edge, but not yelling.

"That I asked him not to fight," she answers, feeling a tiny pang of fear at her words.

"You what?"

"He's not fighting because I asked him not to, and for good purpose. It's to save his life."

"We  _all_  might die. What about me, huh? What about my life? I knew you loved him more."

"Will you listen, you foolish child!" says Gabrielle, grabbing Xena by her collar. And even though she stands at least a head shorter than the warrior, still the bard manages to pull Xena down level with her stare. The warrior's breath comes in short gasps. "If your brother fights in this war tomorrow, he will die and that is a fact. I am trying to save his life."

"How do you know this?" asks Xena, her eyes stricken.

Releasing her hold on the warrior, Gabrielle straightens and prepares to reveal her secret. "Because I do not have the gift of prophecy, nor do I have dreams about the future," she answers, steeling herself.

"Well, that doesn't explain anything," Xena deadpans.

"I know because I have lived in the future. A week or so ago, I was traveling in the Isles of Britannia with my best friend, Xena of Amphipolis. She was a mighty warrior, forged from the heat of battle, who once many seasons in the past had been a fearsome warlord who terrorized whole nations with her bloodlust, who once burned villages to the ground and sold women and children into slavery, who swept over seas and lands as far as Chin and lined the Great Wall with heads on pikes, who betrayed friends, who waged war on the Centaurs, and who once very long ago, fought a war against a warlord to defend her village and lost a beloved brother that day. And for some unknown reason, the gods chose me to travel back in time to that day to stop the cycle of violence. And so that's what I'm doing," Gabrielle breathes, tears glistening in her eyes, "I'm stopping the cycle of violence."

There is a moment where no one speaks and not even the sounds from outside in the camp penetrate the warrior's dark thoughts. Xena looks at Gabrielle, unable or unwilling to comprehend all that the bard had said. Xena will never know the detail that Gabrielle had omitted, that the bard herself must die in place of her brother. And it is a sad moment for the pair, both knowing and unknowing each other, both craving closeness when they find only distance.

"I really become that," speaks Xena, finally breaking their treatise of silence, "I really become a warlord, just like Cortese?"

"You become worse," says Gabrielle.

Defeated by the truth, or by her exhaustion, or by her overburdened mind, Xena sinks to her knees in front of the bard. Those glacial eyes melt and pool and spill.

"How... how can you love me?" asks Xena, her voice broken. At that, Gabrielle also sinks to her knees and puts two hands on either side of the warrior's face, drawing blue eyes to green.

"Because that Xena eventually abandoned her path of hatred and violence. I found her in a clearing near Potidaea, ravaged by war and ready to take her own life. I like to think of her saving me from the slavers as an act of absolute divinity. It brought us together and together we fought fearsomely for the Greater Good. And my Xena used her darkness, her knowledge of evil, to fight evil. Remember what you said outside the Inn the first day we met? If good doesn't rise up to fight evil, then evil wins. You were right, so right. And so you must fight this war against Cortese and you must win, but you must retain your humanity for me and for Lyceus and for the Greater Good."

Xena puts her hands over Gabrielle's and says, "For the Greater Good".

"Yes," the bard smiles through her tears, feeling the sweet, ineffable pain on repeating words said long ago, "and so you must promise me that if anything happens to me, you won't become a monster."

"Gabrielle, I..."

"Promise me," she pleads.

One look in the bard's eyes is enough to comprehend her seriousness.

"I promise," says Xena.


	13. Chapter 13

 

**XIII.**

My love, my love, how you ache inside me, how you ache against me. Gabrielle cannot fathom more acute a pain than she feels now. They kneel on the floor of a military command tent. She is not sure how long they have sat there; she's not sure how long it took Xena to understand and accept the terms of Gabrielle's place in her world or the bleak reality of her own future. It must have been hours, lifetimes. She is sure that an eternity could pass and still she would not willingly part from her lover's arms. Yet it comes in spite of their wish for eternity. Dimas enters the tent to find both his General and her Second in an embrace on the floor.

"Xena," he says, then stops.

For a moment, Xena allows the shame of being seen in such a vulnerable position. Then, she passes two fingers under her eyes to rid herself of any weakness and stands slowly to her full height. It is then that she realizes that Dimas holds in his hands a piece of armor and a folded length of byzantium-colored cloth.

"What is it, Dimas?" asks Xena, her voice made rough by the clamoring in her heart.

" 'Scuse my interruption," her friend disclaims, glancing quickly to Gabrielle who had also come to haggard stand. Xena waves a dismissive hand at him, once more assuming her milital carriage. "Ganix had me bring the armor he smithed at your request and a cape dyed in your colors." He hands Xena the objects and Xena takes them with distracted purpose.

"Thank you," she says, setting them on the table, "Extend my thanks to Ganix as well."

"Course," he replies, "Some of the men thought it'd be a good idea to lift the spirits this night. Wine has been distributed among 'em and a poet from Meride is set to share his verse. Thought Miss Gabrielle would enjoy it, her being a bard and all. Perhaps you could tell some of your stories tonight too."

Gabrielle smiles weakly at him, unable to quell the tears that spring as if from a well in her eyes. She can feel Xena's eyes on her, and so for her benefit, she nods.

"Have you seen my brother, Dimas?" asks Xena, barely concealing the shame in her voice.

"Aye, I have. He was drilling at the posts earlier, seemed mad as a badger he did. Has..." he looks at either tear-stained face on both women, "has somethin' happened, I should know?"

Xena shakes her head. "Just a misunderstanding is all."

"Well he's probably with the others, gathered around the fire," says Dimas.

The warrior considers this information and then turns to her soldier and says that they'll be out in a moment. At that, Dimas turns and exits the tent.

Gabrielle walks to the table and examines the armour resting there. "Want to try it on?" she asks.

"Gabrielle..." breathes Xena, then trails off; everything she wants to say is in her inability to form the words.

Sweeping to her side, Gabrielle puts two trembling hands on either side of her face and stands on her toes to press her lips firmly against the other woman's; everything she wants to say is in her inability to form the words.

In parting, Xena smiles a watery smile. "Careful now," she says quietly, but is not sure if she means it.

"Shh..." says Gabrielle, "lets be strong now, let's put the past where it belongs."

"For now," replies Xena, "I want you to know that I'll do anything for you. I'll swallow my pride and apologize to Lyceus. I'll do anything to change our future."

That brings a fresh wave of tears upon the bard and she does her best to choke them down.

"So will I," says Gabrielle, shaking her head. "Come on now, lets put this armor on you. Your men need to see a general with poise."

That gets a laugh out of the warrior and her consent to be dressed. Gabrielle gathers up the chest piece, surprised at how cool the metal feels in her hands. Xena stands in front of her and holds up her arms that that the bard can fit the breastplate around her torso. Hooking it in front and tightening the leather side straps into place, she finds that the armor fits her friend perfectly. It is silver, with floral pieces that swirl jointly over her ribs and two thin soldered metal loops meet between her breasts and part to lay on her chest. Gabrielle then picks up the pauldron and fastens it on the shoulder of Xena's sword arm, then fixes the rounded besegrew in place; she admires the engraved celtic design on its face. Ganix may seem like a brute, she muses, but he is surely an artisan to have made this armor. Xena flexes her arm at the joint to test the amount of movement the piece allows.

"Pretty good," says Xena.

"Ganix is very talented," replies Gabrielle, grabbing the purple material from the table.

"I tell ya, the measuring for this was a little awkward," Xena admits, earning a smile from her friend. She looks at Gabrielle, wondering now with all the information the bard had shared, about her life in the future. The bard was very adept at fastening the armor; perhaps she does this for the older me as well. The thought makes her smile genuinely: At least I know, no matter what the future brings, I will have this woman at my side. Then, her smile disappears at the thought of her future self. A monster, she thinks. Guilt for sins she had not yet committed course through the blood in her veins. She feels a sudden anger at her older self, for that monster who allowed herself to remain close to this angel. What sort of monster did that make her, even after redemption?

"You can manage this," says Gabrielle, shaking out the fabric. It is a beautiful, rich deep purple cape with a gilded tassel fringe; from two corners is attached a utilitarian gold chain. She hands it to Xena, who drapes the chain over her shoulder and adjusts the material into position. Like a waterfall, the fabric falls over her form and in doing, transforms the black leather of the rebel into the stately form of the warrior princess.

"Well?" asks Xena.

"I still love you," says Gabrielle, smiling.

"Huh?"

"You look like a General, a warmaker, and I still love you."

"Oh," says Xena simply, looking down at herself. She glances at Gabrielle's simple tunic and her belt that she had mended so many days ago to fit the blonde's narrow waist. "You look like a poor bard, a peacemaker, and I still love you."

"It's settled then, we love each other as we are," surmises Gabrielle.

Xena nods.

 

At the General and Second's exit from the command tent, a cheer rises up among the men. A few shouts are aimed at them in request that they join the festivities. The whole army and some of the civilians are gathered around a large bonfire, and cups of wine are being passed among them with gaiety and frivolity. Spirits are high and upon seeing their beautiful commander in her full battle dress, they feel their warriors' hearts expressly in their chests. Xena passes before them all, taking in their reaction. This time however, no amount of pride shows in her face, just a resignation that this is who she is, their Commanding Officer. She sees Lyceus standing at the far end of the circle and she makes her way over to him, accepting two cups of wine for herself and Gabrielle from a passing distributor.

Once they reach Lyceus' side, Gabrielle steps back a little into the crowd to allow them the smallest amount of privacy. For a moment, brother and sister merely stand shoulder to shoulder listening to the folk songs and watching the tall flames of the fire lick up at the night sky. Then, Xena speaks.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly.

Lyceus does not look at her, but keeps his eyes focused straight ahead.

"Apology accepted," he replies, simply.

"I mean it."

"I know you do."

At that, Xena throws an arm around her brother's shoulders and pulls him into a tight side-embrace. From his profile, Gabrielle can tell that he is smiling. Then, he disentangles himself from her and surprises them by walking forward into the center of the haphazard circle, near the fire. He raises his hand in the air, asking for the attention of those gathered. In a moment, everyone's attention turns to their Lieutenant. Gabrielle drifts once more to Xena's side, watching her brother intently.

"I'm not one for military speeches," he begins, his voice strong, "I can't breathe fire into your lungs like Xena can. What I am, is a simple poet. So, I'd like to extend a poem to you all in honor of my sister and her bard, Gabrielle. I think we all might benefit if we look closely at those two and the love they share. It's a beautiful thing and we can be reminded that beauty still exists in a time of war."

Gabrielle presses herself to Xena's side, putting an arm around her waist; she feels the warrior do the same. Lyceus clears his throat and in a clear voice, he delivers an impassioned preamble.

"If you and I were born thousands of years before,

Ere yet the planets soar,

Stars bending past and ancient gods rising

Upon distant mountaintop, we fix our eyes

Upon the hourglass, as sand slips tidally

Beneath our feet, and our souls pull out to sea.

Let us go sail upon the seas of time, and finally,

Let love propel our mainsails, on free

Billowing bright winds of memory."

 

Gabrielle looks up at Xena watching her brother and the unreadable expression on her face. Lyceus continues.

"If I were born a warrior, and you my sword,

Would I fall upon you, fall to the golden horde,

Who gallop on black shrouded horses

And would I call upon the river waters coursing

To wash me away, and you my sharp friend

Would you colour the waters red.

––and then would I wake, warm in my bed

And on your beating chest, would I lay my beaten head.

If I were born a noble poet, and you a blind songstress in a tower

Would I fasten my words onto the tips of arrows, and shower

Sharp words to pierce the veil of your darkness.

 

If I were born a warmaker and you my peace,

Would I sling insults, curse my barbaric caprice,

Would I cover myself in ashes atop the pulpits of the world,

Swear upon my fires, and waters upon me would you hurl,

And dash me down upon the legions, or

Would I then throw up my blackened hands,

In spent surrender to the green serenity of my saviour,

And let fall your calm rains upon my blackened lands.

 

And if I were born my self, and you your own,

Would I scrawl upon our membrane bones,

Feeblest words of the gentlest love.

And would we gather our incarnate selves,

As tiny figurines upon a marbled table made of

Supereon smoke, as stars and planets delve

Into remembered lives of forgotten intimacy.

For you and I, we are immortal shells

To empty and fill with whatever shade of mortal fallacy,

To walk, palm-in-palm, through heavens and through hells."

 

There is a moment of reverent silence that passes as a wind would through the army camp. Then, loud raucous sounds of tearful appreciation knit together in the air and Lyceus bows briefly from the waist. Gabrielle feels the spherical world push up through her lungs into her throat, then pour out through her green wet eyes. She glances once more up at Xena and finds the same tears coursing down her cheeks. Lyceus abandons his spotlight and another bard takes his place, perhaps the one Dimas spoke of from Meride. He walks back to his sister's side, yet avoids her eyes.

"Lyceus, that was beautiful," says Gabrielle, earnestly.

He glances briefly to her and nods his head in thanks.

"I'm sorry I always made fun of your poems," says Xena, shaking her head.

"It's all right," he replies.

"I tried to change you."

"Maybe I wanted to be changed," says Lyceus, finally meeting his sister's eyes. "Xena, you bring out the best in me and you bring out the worst. It's time I found my own balance."

Stunned at his wisdom, Xena does not speak. A moment more, and still all she can do is nod. Lyceus looks wantonly around them, looking like he wants to leave.

"I'm tired," he says, "think I'll head back up."

"I will too," says Gabrielle, "I'm not feeling in much of a party mood."

"I'll walk with you," says Xena, but Gabrielle puts a hand on her arm.

"You should stay for a while," she says, "to show solidarity with the men."

Xena purses her lips, "All right, I'll come say good night in a bit." She bids a farewell to her brother and watches as they walk side by side away from the fire and into the darkness.

 

 

"I'm assuming you talked to her," says Lyceus, when they find the path.

"Yes," Gabrielle replies, shivering a little in the chill of the night. She looks up at the starlit sky and think of her murderess up there watching her. Is Athena laughing at her? Ares surely must be.

"Thank you, I know it must have been hard."

"You have no idea."

"I wrote that poem for you," says Lyceus, his curly head downcast and his blue eyes in their shadow. "But, I think it belongs with you and Xena."

"Oh, Lyceus," says Gabrielle, "how can I ever thank you?"

"There's no need," he replies, "So, tomorrow. Do you want me in the hospice? If I can't fight, I still want to be useful."

"You're already useful."

"Yeah, yeah," he brushes, "Do you?"

"I think they'll need all the healing hands they can get," says Gabrielle.

"Then that's where I'll be."

In a few moments, they walk through the alleyway from the market and into the courtyard between the cottage and Inn. Pausing near the springhouse, Gabrielle stands on her toes and places a chaste kiss on Lyceus' cheek.

"You sweet child," she breathes. Even in the darkness, she can see the blush rise on the young man's cheek.

"I'm not a child," he says, but without anger.

"I know," Gabrielle replies, "You're a man now, and one of the finest I've ever known."

They part after a long held look; Lyceus walks to the cottage and Gabrielle to the Inn.

She takes the servant's passageway through the back of the kitchens, choosing to avoid the crowd that still sits laughing and drinking in the dining area. When she passes by, Cyrene sticks her head out from the threshold of the kitchen.

"The festivities not to your liking?" she asks, a twinkle in her eye.

"No, no, I'm just tired," replies Gabrielle.

"Rightly so. Are my children still down there?"

"Lyceus is back, and I think Xena will soon be."

"Okay, thanks Gabrielle," says Cyrene, turning from the bard.

"Cyrene?" calls Gabrielle and the Inn owner turns back to her.

"Yes?"

"You've raised such wonderful children," she says.

At that, a real smile works its way across a proud mother's face. "I wish your mother were here, so I could say the same" she replies, then disappears back into the kitchens. Gabrielle can hear her barking orders at her staff and the sound brings a small amount of joy to her.

 

The emptiness of her room is gutting and Gabrielle moves deftly to her bed to wrap the woven blanket around her body. She walks to the window and opens the shutters to the night sounds. She hears the last summer crickets and the jeers and laughter floating on the breeze from the southern pasture.

It seems that knowing the time of one's own death sensitizes one to every worldly sensation. She identifies each sensation and files it away in her memory of the mortal world. Why hadn't she told a story at the fire? Gods know, it would have been her last chance. She thinks about which story she would have chosen to tell: Prometheus? Or Morpheus? How about the Amazons and the Centaurs? Or of that poor boy Isaac and his delusional father, Abraham? And then it hits her: she will never tell another story. Tomorrow, or the next day, she will die. And that's it. She is sure she won't be able to pull a stunt like Xena did with the ambrosia when she came back to life many seasons ago. She knows she will not find a way back from the afterlife. She prays for the Elysian fields, but every conception of goodness she ever held dear had been complicated and she can't even allow herself that comfort.

With a shuddering breath, she sits down in the chair near the window.

How does one pass gracefully? How do all the tragic heroes in all the stories die so nobly? She wonders if they felt the fear she does now. She wonders if all their bravery is an act as surely she feels her own bravery is a convincing performance. Perhaps that's all there is, she concludes, to appear one way and be another.

Just as the thought passes through her mind, she hears a knock come at her door.

"Come in," she calls, wiping beneath her eyes. The door opens to reveal Xena still in her regal dress. The warrior shuts the door behind her.

"I couldn't stay down there any longer, Alaethea convinced them all to start clamoring for a song."

"Did you give them one? You have a beautiful voice."

"No," says Xena, "I have nothing to sing about."

"You have everything to sing about."

"I'd rather sing for you," she says, sweeping close to the bard sitting near the window. Kneeling down, Xena rests her head on Gabrielle's lap and the bard runs her fingers between her dark tresses, working out all the tangles.

"I passed by the kitchens to say good night to Mother," comes Xena's muffled voice, "and you know what she did? She took one look at me and nearly busted her gut with laughter." She can feel the bard's body shaking with echoing laugher. At that, she picks up her head.

"Not you too," she says, smiling, "Do I really look that ridiculous?"

"Of course you don't, she's just not used to seeing you this way," Gabrielle replies.

"Guess not. I didn't see Toris anywhere today, wonder where he slithered off to."

"He's probably just fed up with all the war stuff going on. Wouldn't you, if you didn't agree with what's happening?"

"No."

"Xena, you have to make an effort to understand him. He just wants peace, like everyone. But unlike everyone, he doesn't want a war to have it."

"He's a coward."

"You can't fault him for feeling fear."

"No, but I can fault him for giving into fear."

"Maybe, but this animosity between you two is not good. Family should––"

"Stick together in a time of war," finishes Xena, "yeah, I know."

"Promise me you'll try, after all this is over?" asks Gabrielle.

"Ask for the sun and I would wrest it from the heavens, but I can't promise that. It's more complicated than simple forgiveness. He's my kin and our family has a special code of honor."

"No,  _you_  have a special code of honor."

"Maybe so, but Toris betrays it and for that, I can't forgive him," says Xena, leaning a forearm in the sill of the window.

"All I'm saying is think about it. Please?" implores the bard. Xena meets her eyes.

"All right, I will," she replies.

Then, Xena reaches for the candlestick on the sill and slides it closer to the both of them. Taking the flint from the pouch on her belt and the short glaive from its leather sheath, she strikes the two together and lights the wick of the candle. A warm glow spreads over her face and Gabrielle sucks in a breath at the beauty she sees illumined. Death too had made her minutely aware of Life and here before her was the liveliest of creatures. She watches the warrior's nimble hands restore both flint and knife to their proper place on her belt; she sees the bones of her hand flexing and the blue veins splayed like webs under her skin; she watches her chest expel a breath and her lips as she takes in another; she sees the pale softness of her cheek and the tempered rosy flow of blood beneath it; she sees the stark blue of the warrior's eyes and feels the welcome jolt that she always feels whenever she looks into Xena's eyes. Gods, she loved this woman.

"What?" whispers Xena, basking in the rays of her lover's stare. Still kneeling, she puts two hands on Gabrielle's that lay clasped together in her lap and leans closer, looking up into eyes the color of sea glass. And Gabrielle can only think of one thing to do to convey her love. She bends down and positions her mouth a hair's breath away from the warrior's.

"I want you," she says, feeling the words tumble over her own lips onto the lips before her. She feels those lips press together in a tremble. Then, she allows herself to lean an inch closer to feel the shape of her mouth on her own. They move together slowly, discovering each tantalizing texture. Xena's lips are the first to part, and Gabrielle moves a hand up the column of Xena's neck to rest on the line of her jaw. She uses the leverage to pull the warrior's mouth into hers, feeling the smooth wet muscle of Xena's tongue slide past her own. They explore each other's mouths for a moment until the kiss becomes hungrier. Standing together, never breaking apart, Gabrielle uses her body's momentum to push Xena back a few paces so that her back contacts the bedpost. She feels the pleasurable pain of Xena's teeth on her bottom lip, and the warmth of her palms pressed against her lower back. With one last nip at the bard's lip, Xena pulls away for a moment.

 

"What about the older Xena?" asks the warrior.

"You're both one person, one person that I love more than my own life," replies Gabrielle, and moves her hands deftly over the swell of Xena's hips to the taut leather stretched over her buttocks, feeling her hands fill sensuously. She hears a hiss issue forth from Xena's lips.

"Get me out of this silly outfit," she says, gesturing to her armor.

"I've never seen anything sexier than that silly outfit," Gabrielle admits, blushing. She promises herself to say anything and everything that enters her mind; she's done with prudence, done with keeping her desire locked safely away. For years she had wanted Xena, dreamed of her, ached for her and she never allowed herself the words to speak of it or the gestures to act on it. Not until now. It wasn't worth it anymore, that pain.

So, in careful motions, she lifts the chain of the cape over Xena's head, unscrews the besegew from the pauldron and lifts them off her shoulder; she unhooks the breastplate and wonders at the warmth of the metal in her hands; moving to Xena's belt, she fumbles with the buckle for the trembling in her hands. She feels cold, ivory fingers over her own which take over the task. In a moment, Xena is down to her vest and leather pants. Gabrielle stoops down and begins to loosen the laces of the warrior's boots, then her own boots. Each of them slide off their footwear and stand once more to meet strangely shy eyes. Then, with a look of determined bravery, Xena loosens the ties of her vest and shrugs it over her head; her chest laid bare in the candle light.

Gabrielle feels the tips of Xena's erect nipples brush against the cotton of her tunic as the woman reaches to undo her belt. Deftly, the belt falls to the floor and she feels Xena's cold fingers at the hem of her shirt as she lifts the material over Gabrielle's head. With both of their chests now bare, each feels a fearsome blush born of modesty rise on their faces. Xena moves her eyes in naked desire over the curves of Gabrielle's hips, over the swell of her plump breasts. She moves a hand to the laces of her trousers and makes quick work of the ties, then leans down to pull the leather garment from her legs. Gabrielle does the same with her skirt. For a moment, the women study each other's nude bodies. Never had either of them felt at once so exposed, but so confident in their vulnerability.

"Shall we move to the bed?" asks Gabrielle, breathlessly. Xena laughs briefly.

"Sorry, I'm not normally this... virginal," she says, emitting an embarrassed smile. Gabrielle takes her hand and guides her to the bed. She lies down on the mattress, motioning for her lover to join her. Xena climbs up next to her and with a feline grace settles on her side. Reaching out a tentative hand, she traces her fingers over the skin of the bard's hip; the movement elicits a sharp breath from the blonde woman. "Are you... I mean have you ever done this?" she asks.

Gabrielle smiles, "Not with a woman I haven't."

"With a man then?"

"Yes, I was once married," she replies, casting her eyes down.

"Married?" says Xena, her brow knitted in a surprised frown.

"A year ago, but he died."

"How?"

"Don't ask me that, Xena. I don't want to talk about that."

"There's so much I don't know about you."

"Can we ever really know another person?"

"We can try."

"Then try to know me with your lips and your hands," says the bard, bringing a hand up to rest on Xena's chest. And with that, there are no more words. Xena slides her hand over Gabrielle's hip and pulls her closer, and using the momentum the bard leans up over the warrior's lithe body and both women release a held breath at the feel of their skin meeting together. Gabrielle feels Xena's breasts pushed against her own and nothing could have prepared her for the pleasure of such a sensation. She trails light kisses over the warrior's collar bones, over the hollow of her neck; she uses her tongue to taste the salty skin just below Xena's ear; she kisses the tops of her breasts, then settles her chin between then and runs her tongue on the path of her cleavage, using her teeth to bite at the muscles of her abdomen. She raises her head and follows the path of her lips with the tips of her fingers, over the strong thighs, over the concave belly, and finally takes the heady weight of Xena's breast in her hand. She kneads the mounds, gaining pleasure from the small whimpers from the stoic warrior's mouth; then, she moves a thumb over the nipple and raises them to a high salute, loving the gasp that her lover makes. She feels those large cool hands travel from the small of her back and over her arse, and gasps herself when they squeeze firmly and presses her body down so that their centres meet in a careful synchronicity.

A wave of desire rushes through the bard's body and she cannot help her barbarity. She attacks Xena's mouth with her own, licking and biting and her hands grope at every inch of skin she can get reach. Their hips begin to rock together and in an abortive attempt at technique, Gabrielle buries her face in the curtain of Xena's black hair and sinks her teeth into the side of her neck. A feverish rhythm overcomes them and they rock together, their hearts beating wildly, their hands roving over one another's bodies as would a blind man's.

When Xena feels the bard's hand creep up the inside of her thigh, she willingly parts her legs. Gabrielle can smell the heady aroma of her lover's excitement and it sends a thrill of anticipation through her body and makes her mouth water at the prospects of Xena's taste. But, the warrior has other plans and flips them over in a show of agility and strength. Now atop the bard, Xena uses the opportunity to gather a pert pink nipple into her mouth and she feels the rippling of Gabrielle's stomach muscles under her hand. She abandons one breast for the other and rakes a hand between the blonde's legs to part them like a curtain and settles herself into the cradle of the woman's hips. With a parting lick on the underside of the bard's chin, Xena kisses her way down the length of the woman's torso, pausing to dip her tongue in the crevice of her navel. At the tuft of blonde curls, the warrior pauses, her heart beating madly in her need to taste the warmly flowing essence beneath. She looks up at Gabrielle's face for permission only to be met with the fiercest longing in those green eyes. Xena smiles, placing a sweet kiss on the aromatic curls. With two fingers, she runs down the length of Gabrielle's sex, coating them in slick juices. The bard's body jolts at the contact and her hands claw at the tops of Xena's shoulders.

"Please," the bard hisses, "I need your mouth." Properly obeying, Xena replaces her fingers with her tongue and finally tastes the sweet milky flow of her lover's desire. A guttural groan leaves Gabrielle's throat and she rocks her hips against the flat of Xena's tongue. The bard had never felt anything quite like the frenzy that overtook her then and she half-hated her inability to put it into words. Wanting Xena to experience the same kind of indescribable feeling, she moves her thigh between the warrior's legs and presses upward into her sex. A muffled moan flows hot over her own sex as Xena accepts her thigh and begins sliding her centre of the muscle, leaving a trail of wetness in its wake. Gabrielle feels a wave gathering in herself, the sheer naked power of nature building low in her body and steadily rising. She needs more.

"Your fingers," she gasps, wildly reaching to Xena's hand that lay draped over her stomach. She pushes the hand down in effort to make her desire known. Those transparent blue eyes flick up to her, those lips pulling into a smile around her sex. Gabrielle whimpers when that mouth leaves her and again when she feels the fingers that replace it. Travelling up the bard's writhing body, Xena nips at her skin, her breasts, her shoulder and then covers Gabrielle's mouth with her own. And if the bard thought there was no better taste than Xena's lips, then Xena's lips covered in the musk of her desire clearly vied for competition. Gabrielle spreads her legs wider, wrapping an ankle around the back of Xena's calf. "I need you inside me," she breathes. She can feel Xena's fingers poised at her opening and without further instruction, they push slowly inside her. For a moment neither of them move, just waver in the feeling of being primitively connected, at their bodies consummating the closeness they felt in their hearts.

"So good," Xena shivers, "so good to be inside you." She begins moving her fingers in and out of Gabrielle, loving the feminine noises that leave the bard's mouth. The closer she draws to orgasm, the higher her voice becomes; her body is full of Xena, she is filled by her fingers, she is full and then overflows.

"Gods..." she groans and Xena picks up the pace, moving deftly in and out, in and out. In their heat and passion, Gabrielle fashions a moment of clarity out of her pleasure: This is my last night on earth, she thinks, let this be my remembrance of all mortal things, let this love be my legacy. She reaches down and buries her hand in Xena's sex, stroking the sopping wet ridge of her centre. She feels Xena go rigid on her hand and then can only groan when the warrior begins thrusting into her with abandon. Their bodies move together, grind over each other, delve into one another. And in a defining moment, their eyes lock together and both see a streak of lightning flash in each other's eyes and the waves crash down and send them both drowning in a sea of love.

"Ah, ah... Gab...  _Gabrielle_!" the scream rips from the warrior's throat and Gabrielle's own yell of release is tempered by her lover's voice. Their rocking continues, then slows, then stops and Gabrielle finds that her fingers are deep inside warrior and Xena's fingers are deep inside the bard. With a searing, panting kiss, they quell all movement, relishing the rushing in their temples. Gabrielle withdraws her fingers from their warm home and spreads the wet release over Xena's belly. Xena pulls her own fingers away and Gabrielle can already feel the pain of loss, can already feel themselves rushing apart. It won't last! oh gods, let this last. Do not fade, do not leave me, stay.

"Don't cry," says Xena, passing her thumbs over Gabrielle's wet cheeks. She hadn't realised that she was.

"I won't," she whispers, feeling the tears now pouring hotly from her eyes. Xena makes shushing noises and gathers her love in her arms, wishing to gather the woman inside in own body to protect her from this world. This cruel world, this wicked world, where things like war and death exist to sap the life from the loveliest of creatures.

That night, they do not sleep. They make love over and over again as if their lovemaking would stop the sun from rising in the east, and as if their love would erase the coming war and all war from this cruel, this wicked world.


	14. Chapter 14

 

 **XIV**.

When the first light finds its way to the sill of Gabrielle's window, the bard finds herself cursing Helios and wishing for his brother darkness to return once more. In fact, as the night progressed into morning, she found herself cursing nearly every god on Olympus she could name. Which is a shame, she managed to admit. For here are the last morning rays she will ever have the fortune of greeting. She had not allowed herself a moment's foray into slumber; she kept herself well awake long after Xena had curled her body around the smaller woman and given in to a sated, exhausted sleep. Now, with her head rested on the bard's chest, her black hair splayed over them like distended ink on papyrus, Gabrielle can feel the tickle of her deep even breaths on her sensitized skin.

Everything, every part of the bard's body felt overly sensitized–– whether from her promise to acutely experience the world or because of the rigorously meted experience of their lovemaking. In fact, at this moment, Gabrielle never felt more alive and she wonders if this is what Xena feels every moment of her waking day. Perhaps, being a warrior and being used to looking Death in the eye at every moment had necessarily sensitized the warrior. In that way, Gabrielle felt more the warrior now than ever. Briefly, the bard feels an amount of regret for all the years she spent dreaming, imagining, taking her mind out of her immediate surroundings; she had thought fancy and stories were the food of life, but she had neglected Life itself for so long. And now, in the end, she feels regret. Then, she thinks to the last few hours spent in her bed with Xena and the regret instantaneously disappears. She had spent those hours in the full embrace of Life.

Would Xena hate her for what she was about to do? Would she keep her promise to stay her vengeful desires? Would Gabrielle have any real impact on the course of future events or would it all be in vain? Lyceus, she thinks and her questioning stops there. She would save Lyceus and if nothing else changed by way of her sacrifice, then still it would have been worth it. Xena and Lyceus would live and they would prosper together–– of that Gabrielle was sure. She casts loving eyes on the woman draped over her body.

Yet, just as the sunlight crept over the sill and onto the floor, there flashes a light as one would see the sun glaring in a looking glass. And there, standing opaque against the morning appears Ares, God of War. He puts a finger to his lips, looking at the sleeping warrior.

"Don't worry, only you can see me," he says, markedly flippant.

Gabrielle nearly vaults out of bed at his arrival and she feels her cheeks flame at their nakedness and dishevelment.

"Address your thoughts to me and I'll hear you," he finishes.

 _Ares,_ she thinks,  _Come to gloat?_

"Nah, just filling in for Aphrodite, come to bless this little love nest."

Gabrielle merely scowls at him over Xena's head. Ares laughs.

"What? Where's your sense of humor?"

_It tends to fade when you're about to die._

"Well, fair enough. Speaking of your imminent demise, however... that's why I'm here. Don't do it, Gabrielle."

_I'd think you'd be making offerings at Athena's temples..._

"I know what Athena's said. But listen, I'll take care of her if you keep your little blonde self alive. Deal?"

_What can you possibly gain from keeping me alive?_

At that, Ares smiles. "Well, you know Gabrielle, for a peacemaker, you sure know how to wage war. I've got my eye on you. I know potential when I see it."

With those words spoken, Gabrielle feels her eyes fill with tears. What had she done? She had done a  _service_ to War.

_It was in the service of peace––_

"Sure. Sure it was. Now, what do you say? You live and Xena lives. All's fair in love and war, right?"

Suddenly, Gabrielle catches the god's meaning, and she understands now why he is making such a proposition. 

_But Lyceus will not live._

Here, the God of War is tripped. "Well, no," he relents, "Catch is, the kid's gotta die."

 _You know that if I make myself a martyr, Xena won't follow you_.

"That too..." If Ares could look anything like livestock, it was then that he looked rather sheepish. "Why change what's fated to be, Gabrielle? Why change history? Weren't you happy playing house with the older Xena?"

Gabrielle had to think about that for a moment. She had made that wish out of dissatisfaction with her life. She had done it to change things. But could she say she wasn't happy with Xena? She thinks to an array of moments, quiet moment between the war and the fighting and the heartache–– moments around the campfire, moments spent trying to know each other, moments spent arguing about frying pans and whips and telling stories––those moments in the sun. Weren't all those moments borne of beauty, of love? And if she was truly honest with herself, she was never happier anywhere else than she was at Xena's side, traveling all over the known world. Should she listen to Ares? What were the  _real_ repercussions of dying today? She couldn't say.

"Uh," drawls Ares, "You just gonna lie there or are you going to answer me?"

 _Yes, I was happy_.

"So? What do you say?"

But if she had learned anything from her time spent with the older Xena, she knew she couldn't trust anything the God of War said. Everything he did was out of raw selfishness.

_This goes beyond my happiness. It even goes beyond Xena's happiness. This is for the Greater Good._

Ares grits his teeth and begins pacing, his hand gripping the pommel of his sword as if he would enjoy nothing more than thrusting its tip into the bard's chest. Then again, that would be absolutely counter-productive to his purpose.

"I'm offering you Life," he says.

"No," she says aloud, then catches herself:  _You're merely offering me another kind of Death._

But her outburst had roused the sleeping woman. Raising her head sleepily, Xena opens bleary blue eyes and settles them on the bard and a smile like a sunrise arcs its way over her tired features. And Ares can only watch in horror as the warrior bestows on the bard a lazy good morning kiss.

"You say something?" Xena intones, her voice made low and rough like uncut diamonds.

Gabrielle shakes her head and smiles falteringly. "What's the matter? Your heart's beating so fast."

"For you," Gabrielle answers and Ares snorts.

Xena crawls up Gabrielle's naked body and kisses her longingly and slowly. "By the gods, I love you," she says.

Ares emits a furious hiss, "Don't take the gods' names in vain!".

"And I love you," replies Gabrielle, glancing quickly to Ares at the end of their bed.

"Don't do this," says the God of War and it looks like he is truly in pain. But in answer, Gabrielle merely runs her hands through the warrior's long, tousled black hair, over her shoulders and down her back, bestowing the warmest of smiles on her lover. And with that, Ares disappears with a  _crack!_.

"Mmm..." Xena breathes, coiling herself like a contented cat. "All I want is to be with you now."

"But we have a war to fight," says Gabrielle.

"True," Xena admits. But her hand plays down the bard's torso and settles over her pelvis just at the patch of blonde curls. "But, isn't it all for love?" she whispers. And they spend the next hour doing just that.

 

After a golden hour, both warrior and bard begin rousing themselves. Gabrielle had been trying to shake the indecisiveness that her conversation with Ares had caused. She had made up her mind, hadn't she?

Xena had become increasingly worried over her lover's state, trying to reconcile the tremors that ran through the bard's body and how she seemed incalculably sad, and not just a sadness that sprung from a particular event, but a cosmic sadness borne from the womb of all human suffering. The warrior attributed it to the closeness of Cortese and the horrors that would surely follow. As they began donning their clothes, a knock sounded at their door. Gabrielle shrugged her tunic over her head and moved open the door. She finds Cyrene standing on the other side.

"Morning Gabrielle," she says, glancing around her shoulder to where her daughter stood balancing on one foot tying the laces on her boots. "Thought I might find you here."

Xena has the grace to blush.

"I trust you two slept well?" Her eyes are twinkling with suppressed laughter. Surely everyone at the Inn had heard them last night; they didn't take any pains to quiet themselves.

"Yeah, yeah," Xena brushes past Gabrielle to address her mother, "What is it?".

"Right to business is it? You barely have a moment to spare for your poor old mother."

"Sorry," says Xena, stooping to tie the laces on her other boot, "I feel like my mind has been drawn and quartered."

"Promise you'll have breakfast with me, love, and I'll tell you my news," bargains Cyrene.

"Fine," Xena relents, sounding more like a teenager with her intonation than she ever had before.

Cyrene smiles. "Dimas and Ganix have been in, asking for you. Said they had a few things to confirm with you."

"I'm sure they do," Xena replies, "Are they still down there?"

"No, they said they'd meet you at the command tent."

"All right. Thanks, Ma."

"Never thought I'd act as a war messenger," says Cyrene offhandedly, "especially for my own daughter."

"Lots of people do things they never expected they would in a time of war," says Gabrielle.

"Very true," Cyrene agrees, "All right, I'll meet you both downstairs shortly." And with that, she disappears down the hall.

Gabrielle turns to Xena. "How about if I meet you down in the fields as well?"

"You need breakfast too," Xena says, smiling.

"I wouldn't want to intrude. Spend some time with your mother, Xena. It's important."

"But––" Xena protests.

"No buts. I'm not even hungry. See you down there," says Gabrielle, placing a chaste kiss on the warrior's cheek. She turns to leave the room, but Xena catches her arm and wheels her back around for a less chaste kiss. When they part, Xena registers Gabrielle's tormented look.

"You don't regret what we–-" she begins.

"Of course not," Gabrielle rushes across, "I'm just feeling a little anxious is all."

Xena does not look convinced but she pretends to be for the bard's benefit. "See you down in the trenches," she says and Gabrielle smiles, leaving the warrior to don the rest of her armor.

 

Gabrielle decides to walk through the forests that abut the Inn and circumvent the traffic of people on the road leading down to the southern pasture. She knows this is selfish, for she could be helping carry the sandbags to the northern wall, or boiling the rags in the hospice set up in the town hall. But, she feels she needs a moment of calm and loneliness to still the clamoring in her heart. She glances upward at the treetops waving in a western wind; she knows the sun will be overrun by rain clouds by mid-day. She watches the branches sway to-and-fro in the wind and even the trees seem to be waving farewell; even the birds' cry out  _the last! the last! the last!_. Gabrielle casts her eyes to the ground, and there at her toe is a lush clipping of a blue hyacinth flower. If she had taken another step, she would have crushed the delicate petals beneath her boot. She glances a few paces ahead and finds that there are an array of hyacinth blooms on her path. Cautiously, she follows their trail.

In a moment, she feels a presence following her. Drawing from her training, she doesn't allow her pursuer to know of her awareness. Then, suddenly, a bright wind picks up the fallen leaves and they blow leisurely around her, stopping the bard on her path. Around Gabrielle's shoulder appears an ivory hand, long-fingered and pale, its palm cradling the expressive flowerets of another blue hyacinth. A sense of utter calm and stillness washes over the poet and she arcs her neck subtly to smell the sweet scent. A clear, enchantingly quiet voice finds the bard's ear:

"Do you know the story behind this flower?" asks the voice, allowing Gabrielle to turn and understand her identity.

"Artemis," breathes Gabrielle.

The goddess smiles, and inclines her head. She is much fairer than the bard had expected; Artemis is tall and thin, almost gazelle-like with pointed features and dressed in beautiful silken robes of some ethereal pale material. Over her shoulder is slung a beautiful bow, engraved with ancient runes of which Gabrielle could not read.

"Your patron goddess has asked you a question, Amazon Queen," says Artemis, only gently and without malice.

"Excuse me?" says the bard, utterly speechless, "Oh! Do I know the story about Hyacinth?"

"Yes," answers Artemis.

"I do."

"Tell it to me."

Gabrielle allows herself a small smile. It looks like she will tell one last story after all–– what a gift of the divine. She clears her throat, and positions her body in her practiced performative gait and begins weaving:

"Hyacinth was once the name of a young woman and she was gifted with beauty to rival Helen of Troy herself. Hyacinth was a Thracian princess in a white castle on the sea and most days she drew along the waterside like a wayward wave and dreamed of adventure. In truth, she walked among the lush gardens of her estate, seeking solace and solitude, but she gained no peace from flowers. Hyacinth was also a strong woman and could be seen by her subjects practicing ancient martial stances.

It was on a hot day, when Hyacinth was busy throwing a discus waywardly in the heat, that Apollo happened upon her beautiful form. He fell swiftly and deeply in love with her. It just so happens, however, that Zephyr, the Wind God, had also fallen in love with Hyacinth. I should say, they were two of many who were in love with the Thracian princess. And yet, Apollo descended into the garden and exchanged formalities. They then began practicing the discus together. Zephyr, angry in the sky, found the two getting too comfortable in their sport. So he blew the western wind fiercely in the direction of the discus that Apollo had just released. The wind blew in such a manner as to change the flight-path of the discus, veering it up into the air and slicing down to cut heavily into Hyacinth's chest.

The blood did not pour until Apollo knelt at her side and removed the object from its cavity; the blood soaked down her white practice robes, coloring them a deep purple. It is then that Princess Hyacinth died in Apollo's arms and when Hades came to claim her for the Underworld, it is said that the God of Sun and Poetry held fast to her body and would not allow her rightful passage. But, what is tradition must be upheld, especially by immortals. So, Hades took Hyacinth down into the depths of the earth in a black shrouded chariot. Left in the gardens of this white castle by the sea, Apollo finds Hyacinth's blood on the grasses of the lawn. There, he kneels and conjures a flower, a hyacinth, and colored it the shade of his love's spilled blood."

When Gabrielle ends her tale, she is almost startled by the Goddess' presence; she had dropped out for a minute. She felt invigorated, sated. Gabrielle glances to Artemis who had leaned casually on an extended branch. The Goddess' eyes were sparkling and silvery, very old and very young at the same time. When she speaks, it is low and comforting like a mother's voice.

"I crafted your heart with such careful tenderness. It is true, I poured all my hopes and all my dreams for humanity into one creature, and that is you. Gabrielle, Bard of Potidaea, daughter of Herodotus and Hecuba, sister of Lila, I made you with the best of intentions. You are my Chosen. I'm not sure if anyone has properly explained what it means for a God to choose a mortal as their own. The Immortal's choice is bound to that mortal and even when one incarnation dies, we search and we search for its soul in the next time. In this lifetime, you are my own. And I would do anything," the Goddess moves close to Gabrielle and puts two surprisingly warm hands on either side of her face, "I would do  _anything_  to save your life this day."

Gabrielle feels her eyes well up, allowing herself to hope just for a moment that she may be spared her fate. The look in Artemis' pale eyes is haunted and hope vanishes. 

"I cannot save you in this lifetime," continues Artemis, "a decision has been... regrettably and foolishly made on the part of my Father."

"Zeus," answers Gabrielle, not sure if it is a clarification or a swear.

"Yes. He has ruled Athena's scheme fair and just and I cannot, by order of my Olympian Caste, disobey his judgment."

"Of course," says Gabrielle, her voice small, "I understand. It's about Hope, isn't it?"

"Yes... Dahak has Zeus and Athena terrified," admits Artemis.

Gabrielle steps away from the Goddess and turns away, hiding the tears that come at any mention of her daughter's name. Artemis watches the small width of the blonde's shoulders shake, a tremble waves through her body. At once, the Goddess is at her side, steadying the mortal woman. Gabrielle looks around at Artemis and lowers her eyes in submission.

"I'm sorry," she says, "I'm sorry I brought this Evil in the world. But, I have a chance at correcting some of that today. And so I will. I'm not afraid to die."

No mortal's words had ever so broken the Goddess's heart. She takes the small woman into her arms. "None of this is your fault, do you hear me? This Evil is not a part of you; this Evil used you and you are a victim of its cruelty. I'm so sorry, Gabrielle." Artemis puts the tips of her fingers under the bard's chin and lifts it so that their eyes are level. "You are very brave and also very good. I made you, I know you. I will give you a death like a true warrior, a true Amazon Queen. Your sacrifice will be known to all of history."

"Will Xena be all right?" asks Gabrielle.

Artemis frowns at that, looking away. The bard advances on the God, disliking the Goddess's hesitation.

"Everything will work out in the end, Gabrielle," answers Artemis.

"Will she?" Gabrielle implores.

Artemis seems to consider her options a moment, and she seems to decide on a vague cryptic truth uttered only by an immortal tongue. "Athena has taken a disliking to Ares' Chosen," she says simply, "As have I."

Gabrielle's eyes widen and she takes a few stumbling steps away from Artemis. "Xena," she breathes, and then turns and flees back through the forest, leaving her patron goddess alone in the wood.


	15. Chapter 15

**XV.**

A bruise spreads over the late morning sky and the storm clouds roll out like silent assassins; and in a torrent, the rain begins to fall.

Xena stands with Dimas under the small canvas awning erected over the entrance to the command tent. Their meeting with Ganix had unnerved her. No messages, nor Petrcales himself had arrived yet and the waiting made Xena's nerves jump and snap together like live eels. And  _where_ was Gabrielle? Hadn't she agreed to meet her here? Xena looks out over the ranks of her men readying themselves for battle and feels a small stab of pity for them: they who are getting rained on, they who may lose their lives today. In a candle-mark or so, she would mobilize five legions––manned not merely by a collection of Ampipholeans, Merideans, or Potidaens, but a united army of Thracians––to the blackened western fields and arrange them into flanking positions near a dense copse of tree cover at the foothills. If indeed Petracles was right, then Cortese and his army would be appearing over those hills by early evening. But Petracles had yet to send word on the warlord's advance. Xena shuffles through a mental inventory of men, weapons, provisions, water supply, horses; she allocates them in various combinations and decides that her resources can stretch just enough for an alternate plan that is taking shape in her mind.

"Dimas," says Xena, suddenly.

"Princess?" answers Dimas.

"I want you to gather the men who formed the first training party of Amphipolis. Have them form up and await instructions from me," she says, a dark look washing over her features. Dimas gives her a questioning look but does not speak. "I have a special assignment for them and I need all the most loyal to me."

"I'll see it done," says Dimas, saluting his general.

Xena watches him trot out into the downpour. This weather certainly was not conducive to battle; she hoped Cortese would camp for the evening and attack in the morning. Her thoughts then turn to the townspeople. She needs to confirm the safety of the barricades at the town hall, where most of the people will be gathered to help maintain the hospice. Gods! where was Gabrielle? And almost as if on cue, the figure of a drenched blonde woman materializes between the ranks of men. Upon laying eyes on Xena, the bard takes off in a sprint in her direction.

"Xena!" Gabrielle calls, and once she is at her friend's side, she grasps the warrior's arms in a wild embrace. Her eyes look like those of a spooked horse.

"What is it?" asks Xena, more than a little frightened by that look.

"I need to ask you something. I need a yes or no answer and I need you to leave it at that."

"Go on––"

"Promise me that you won't ask questions right now?"

"Well, if I had any idea what in Hades you're talking about then––"

"Please, Xena!" There is an edge to the bard's voice that Xena had never heard before and it made her swear despite her better judgment; what she heard was something like panic. Had Gabrielle heard from Petracles?

"I need to know if you've had any more dreams from the gods. Have you heard from Artemis or Athena... Ares?"

Xena almost laughed, almost. "Are you kidding? I think I would have mentioned if an Olympian dropped in for a game of cards."

"I'm serious."

"No, no more dreams," Xena relents.

"Good," says Gabrielle, not entirely sure if it  _was_ good. "Listen, Xena, I can't explain right now, but if you see or hear from any of those three gods,  _do not_ trust them, I beg you. They can't do any good for you."

"Wait a damn minute! Are you telling me you've been hosting gods in the servant's room of my mother's inn?"

"Xena!" Gabrielle cuts across, "what did I say?"

"No questions. All right," the warrior grinds out, thoroughly uneasy with this bizarre conversation. "So... what do I do?"

Gabrielle clutches at the sides of her head, trying to clear it of the overriding panic she feels surging through her. "Carry out the strategy as planned for now. Have you heard back from Petracles?"

"Nope," answers Xena and they both meet each other's eyes. "Don't worry," says the warrior, understanding her Second's fear, "I've got something in mind."

"Okay," Gabrielle nods her head, "I'm going to figure out what's going on here." She then steals close to the tall, dark young woman. "I'm sorry I have to be so cryptic, love."

"I trust you," Xena breathes, feeling inexplicably angry at her ignorance. She must trust Gabrielle; that's what people who love each other do, right? Gabrielle puts her arms around the warrior's neck, feeling the damp, heated skin and the tendrils of wet hair gathered into a single plait, a dark purple ribbon woven into the braid. The bard stands on her toes and presses her lips to her lover's ear–– for here, in this moment, they are not General and Brigadier, nor co-conspirators, but simply and plainly, two people who love each other. The shorter woman whispers something unintelligible in the warrior's ear, something which causes a very tired, very pained, very soft expression to fall over her face. From the head of the ranks and through the rain, Dimas watches his general, his childhood friend betray a look of most profound love to the bard; he watches as the two crash together in a fierce embrace. Dimas is not a romantic man, but something tells him he is playing witness to one of the greatest romances of their time. He looks away, and resumes his task of assembling Xena's most loyal soldiers.

 

Cyrene had demanded that all of her children join her at the Inn for lunch before they moved out. So, here, in a nearly empty mess hall sit the haggard matriarch, her equally glum boyfriend, a deeply frowning Toris, Lyceus, Xena and Gabrielle. It is silence between them as they help themselves to a warm potato-leek stew and a loaf of dark bread. It is Lyceus who dares to break the quietude.

"Only Ma would find time to go to war  _and_ make a stew," he said.

Everyone erupts into rather maniacal laughter, glad to have something to distract them. The laughter however was fleeting and it ended in a few trailing giggles and the clearing of throats. The silence took over again, seeming to settle on the party like a shroud. They continued to eat and sip from their mugs of cider.

"Let's stop this, shall we?" says Gabrielle suddenly and very quietly. She gives Xena a sad look, yet still managing to show defiance. "What's about to happen is a tragedy. We may lose people we love, we may do things that will haunt us for many years. War is a tragedy. Men speak of war with romanced tongues; they speak of war like glory, like honor. War is neither glorious nor honorable. War is a tragedy; it will never be anything but that. What matters though, is this meal, and this stew," her voice catches. She finds Lyceus' eyes and he smiles at her. She continues, steeling herself: "What matters is the people around this table, and the people in their homes sharing similar meals, and by the gods, the men and women who are going to be out on that field today. So, in honor of all that is humane, in honor of peace and prosperity and of love between these people–– I'd like to raise a toast." Gabrielle holds up her mug of cider and watches as everyone around the table raises their own mugs.

"For love," they all agree and take healthy drinks.

"For love," whispers Gabrielle, looking to Xena and then to Lyceus. She feels Cyrene's eyes on her and she glances up to meet the matriarch's watery stare. Cyrene inclines her head, wiping stoically at the tears that fall from her blue eyes.

 

The rain had not relented over morning. In fact, by the afternoon, it seemed to darken further and storm harder. Xena glances up at the sky, deciding that Zeus was indeed in a terrible rage. She stands in the courtyard behind her mother's Inn, quite alone in the downpour. She had begged off from the others after lunch to ready Nikos, her chestnut thoroughbred, for riding. She had a pair of battle blinders made up for her horse, but she did not have adequate time to fashion enough gear to fully protect him. He was her horse from childhood, aging now, but a trustworthy and strong horse. He was, after all, named for a victorious people.

As she entered the stable, she felt another presence there with her, watching her; it was a human presence, not animal. Reaching quickly for her sword, she calls out to the intruder.

"Show yourself," she commands, brandishing the sword. She looks to Nikos in his pen, unharmed. He stamps an impatient foot as his mistress scans the corners of the barn. Suddenly, she hears a low rumbling chuckle. Xena repeats her command.

"Your reflexes are good," says the voice, still disembodied. The young warrior glances wildly around, hoping to catch tell of the person's position. The whip of a coattail appears in her peripheral vision and she adjusts herself to face it.

"They're the reflexes of a warrior," says the voice.

Xena determines it to be female. Then, from behind an oak support, there appears a cloaked figure. She is tall, standing just above the height of Xena herself; a hood obscures her features; the tops of brown scuffed boots show beneath the hem of the cloak.

"Let me see your face," says Xena, still with sword in hand.

"I don't think that's a good idea just yet," said the woman, and something in the way she circled Xena seemed to suggest that she was also a warrior.

"And why is that?"

"It might be too great of a shock," says the woman. There is a tingling note of familiarity in that voice.

"Who are you?" asks Xena, "Why are you here?"

"Patience," replies the woman, evenly. "I will not tell you my name, but I am here to tell you something of very great importance. I'm hoping you'll be wise and listen."

"Are your intentions violent?" Xena asks.

"I will not hurt you, I promise."

"Then say your piece."

"I am here to talk to you about Gabrielle," says the tall, shadowed woman. She walks closer to the young warrior and extends a hand from beneath her cloak to push away the tip of the sword. The nonchalance in the gesture makes Xena feel rather more wary of this mysterious woman.

"I'm listening," says Xena, chancing to lower her sword.

"She has told you of her mission in your time?"

"How do you know about that!" Xena accuses.

"Do not question how, answer instead."

"Yes, she has told me all."

"Did she explain to you about your brother, Lyceus?" asks the woman, her words are severe and saturated in seriousness.

"That he was once fated to die this day? Yes. He will be in the hospice when the fighting breaks––"

"That's all she told you?"

"Yes..." Xena drawls, "Why? Is there more?"

"Yes, much more."

"Tell me."

"You must not react with violence, Xena. Do you understand me?"

"Just tell me," the young warrior is losing her patience. She is supposed to meet Lyceus and Gabrielle around front in the market.

"It has to do with the Loom of the Fates," begins the cloaked warrior woman, "and the life-threads that belong to you, Lyceus and Gabrielle."

"What about them?"

"Your Fates are intertwined, complexly, karmically intertwined. You and Gabrielle are spiritual partners, where your life-threads run ever parallel together."

"So we will know each other in many lifetimes?" reasons Xena.

"Yes, many."

"Okay, I understand that. I mean, I think I had already guessed at that. But what does this have to do with my brother?"

"Lyceus' fate is also bound up with yours, and also, with your friend's. You see, instead of parallel life-threads like yours and Gabrielle's, Lyceus and Gabrielle share one life-thread. If it was a divine mistake, or an intentional mis-stitch, I don't know. But in about ten seasons, when Gabrielle was sent back to this time, there are earthquakes and hailstorms and erupting volcanoes; the people of Greece are in a frenzy. And I have reason to believe that it is happening because two people who would otherwise never meet in overlapping lifetimes, who share the rare bond of a life-thread, are the cause of these catastrophes."

Xena looks down, trying to fit all the pieces together. When she looks up, her face has paled and her eyes are wide. The cloaked woman knows that the young warrior is beginning to understand.

"Lyceus and Gabrielle can't exist in the same period of time," says Xena, finally.

"No," the woman shakes her head, "Athena has already explained this to Gabrielle."

"So she's offered to sacrifice herself," whispers Xena, fear blooming in the pit of her stomach like a dangerous flower. No wonder Gabrielle had been acting the way she has.

"Yes, she has."

"But why? I don't understand, why would Athena send Gabrielle back in time and risk all these catastrophic events in order to save the life of my brother? I mean, he's that important to me, but to the Olympians?"

"No, Gabrielle is that important," says the woman. And Xena sinks against the side of Nikos' pen as the woman explains all about Dahak and Gabrielle's part in dealing with that incarnate evil.

"Why..." breathes Xena, tears in her eyes, "Why did I ever lead her there? It's my actions that caused all her pain. Why am I always the cause of her pain?"

"You're not," says the woman, "I am." Before Xena can fully comprehend the comment, the woman pushes back the hood that hid her face and steps into the light of a nearby lantern. If Xena were one to show surprise, she would have gasped at the sight. There, standing before her is her own mirror image. This Xena, however, is dressed in a brown battle-skirt and copper plated armor; she has a sword fastened at her back, its pommel surfacing behind her left shoulder. The young Xena recognizes this as her older self, the Xena from Gabrielle's future life and the one from her dreams.

"She talks about you often," says the young warrior, trying to get over her shock.

"If you only knew how damn lucky you are," says the older warrior.

"I do, I do know."

"Then, listen to me now. I've managed to convince the Fates to divert our life-path and converge it with Gabrielle's and with Lyceus'. They believe it will work because the four of us, well the three I guess, are so closely woven together. It is the only way that we can save their lives."

"Are you saying..." Xena trails off, horror dawning on her.

"Yes. If you lay down our life, then we just may have a chance at saving them."

"But how, if we're all on one thread? Won't only one be able to survive?"

"No, I have a theory. I think that if we die, then one of their threads will assume the place of ours."

"Are you sure?"

"Not totally," answers the older Xena. The younger averts her eyes for a moment, then feels a hand on her shoulder. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry that I have to ask this of you. I would fight and die in your place if the Fates would allow it. It's unfair that I got to live so much of life and wasted it on death and war. It's unfair that you don't get to make better decisions for yourself."

"Please," the young warrior hisses, "Spare me. It's your fault. This is all your fault."

The elder nods, tears forming in a pair of identical blue eyes.

"You're right. All of this is my fault. It's my actions that led you here. But this is our chance at correcting all that. If you kill yourself, you kill me. And with you dies all of my misdeeds. You must do it for all the people I hurt, for Lyceus and for Gabrielle. Gabrielle was ready to do the same for you and she's the most innocent, most truly good person I've ever known without an evil current in her body––"

"It sounds like you're trying to convince me," the young Xena cut across, "You know how we are. Self-sacrifice really isn't our thing."

"Please..." whispers Xena, weariness evident in her body and in her eyes. She looks as if she just wants it to end.

"And for you to think that I entertained for a second  _not_  dying to save them, then it shows how different the two of us really are."

"Thank you," breathes the elder, "thank you."

"Thank Gabrielle and Lyceus for allowing us any honor by our death," says the young Xena.

"There is a provision I must tell you. Cortese will attack tonight, from the north. Petracles has betrayed you."

"I thought as much."

"Your timing must be very precise. Keep the battle raging strong through the night. Order three offensive attacks, catch Cortese off guard; he'll expect you merely to maintain a defense. Challenge him; he's hot-blooded. When morning nears, fight his army to a standstill. Then, I want to you propose a champion's match between yourself and Cortese. You must kill him to stop the war between your armies and save the people here. But, you must also fall to his sword by the rise of the sun. It is  _vital_  that you do not give up your life before then."

The young warrior swallows then gives a slight nod.

"Do you understand?" asks the older Xena.

"Yes, I understand."

The older warrior bestows a sad smile on her younger counterpart. "You're right, you know," she says, drawing the other's eyes up, "we are very different. You are so much braver than I ever was."

The ill-fated warrior nods again, sheathing her sword with an audible determination. The elder puts a hand on her shoulder in solidarity.

"For love," she says.


	16. Chapter 16

 

**XVI.**

The warrior princess can feel rainwater trickle down between the folded collar of her cape, down the back of her neck; she can feel the sticky weight of her leather vest and the hinges creak in her armor. Running a hand down the bristly mane of Nikos, Xena smoothes the water away from her mount's fur; her hand comes away smelling strongly of stable musk and the vigorous scent of the horse itself. She rides at the head of four legions of the Thracian Resistance, as Gabrielle had so cleverly coined them, through the western fields. The march scatters the wanton sheep that escaped confinement in the barns, sends the birds flapping into the storm from the tops of cypress trees. Behind her rides Dimas and Ganix, both mounted; Lyceus sits atop a broad draft-horse, and Gabrielle tails quickly behind on foot. When they reach the northern pasture, Xena pulls at Nikos' reins and turns him to face the rest of the army.

"Halt!" she calls. The men obey her command and stop their march. She pulls Nikos into a stamping trot and marches him across the front lines of the Resistance. Gabrielle watches her from her place among the hoplites, as awed as the rest by Xena's carriage and the grandeur with which she now moves. The warrior princess' hair is matted to her face and her purple cape hangs wet and heavy over the rump of her beautiful stallion. And yet, the very sky above in all its stormy glory serves only to augment the young General's fierceness of presence.

"You may all be wondering why I split up our forces!" Xena yells above the storm, bringing Nikos to a halt once more. Steam rises from the horse's nostrils, droplets of rain cling to its blinders and the velvet of its muzzle. "We believed Cortese would be attacking from the west, based on the misinformation of Petracles, a traitor to our cause."

A few shouts of anger and protest rise up among the soldiers. But Xena raises a hand and quiets them. "I have it on good faith, however, that he will be attacking from the north, as I had originally guessed he would. So, it is your duty here to defend the northern line, while your brothers in arms take up a flanking position from the north-western plateau. This position will force Cortese into one path of destruction, the northern wall, which is our most heavily-garrisoned gate. Is this understood?" she calls. The men shout their understanding in a unified voice.

"Good," says Xena, fixing them all with an almost violent expression. "Gabrielle and Dimas will be leading the northern front. I will be with the legion in the west."

With that, Xena stares out at the armored, soaking soldiers. She knows they are waiting for her words, the words that had given her fame and myth and moved whole nation-states into action. But now that the moment has arrived, now that she sits here at the head of an army––which had been her fantasy for nearly a decade––she is at a loss for words. She thinks fleetingly over the short life she has lived and decides that if it must end today, then by all the conspiring gods, she would deliver these people from this war. She has made herself a leader of men, and so she must damn well  _be_ a leader of men.

"I know what you're expecting," she shouts above the rain, her voice carrying like the thunder to everyone gathered. "You are expecting words, inflamed words to set fire to your sword-arms, to send them burning through the bodies of Cortese's men. Words that would make fast your hearts, that would breathe tales of blood and glory into your veins.

All of you have heard Gabrielle, the bard and your commanding officer, speak of peace. I guarantee that you have never heard her speak of war as she speaks of peace. War is always condemned and peace is always upheld in the mind as the highest ideal. So, I will not speak of blood. For we do not fight for blood, we do not fight to make other people suffer, or to make them die. We fight for peace among our people. For the purpose of peace, should our hearts steady and our hands still and should all our fears be vanquished. So let us fight. Let us win! For the sake of glorying in that which is good and just, let us fight!"

Xena had never heard such a cacophonous noise; surely it would wake the Titans from their ancient tombs in the mountains. She hoped their cheer rose up above the fury of Zeus' skies and traveled to the very ears of those who sat and mocked them from their gilded thrones on Olympus. Drawing her sword, Xena lets out a piercing battle cry, and thrusts it high into the air. She sees Gabrielle raise her staff and Lyceus his fist, and as the rest of the men raise their weapons in echoing salute. Pulling back sharply on Nikos' reins and digging a heel into his side, Xena coaxes the stallion up onto its powerful hindquarters.

"For the Resistance!" she yells.

"Resistance!" the soldiers return. And at that moment Xena feels a current race through her veins and recognizes the flow of life as it courses through her body. She had never felt so alive.

"For peace!" Gabrielle yells.

"Peace!" the men cry.

"For peace!" roars Xena.

 

Rising from the western fields, Petracles can hear the chants of the Thracian army. He sits mounted on a black horse, fully armored for battle. Grunting to himself, he kicks his steed into a vicious gallop toward the noise.

"Rider approaching!" 

Xena catches the words, casting her eyes into a scan of distant forest through the storm. And there, riding fast in their direction, is a man who carries in his hand a pennon dyed in dark emerald and silver: Cortese's colors. Spurring Nikos into action, she rides at the approaching man. In a moment or two, Xena is close enough to recognize the features of the traitor. Her face sets into a snarl. Once the two riders meet, each slows their mounts and circles each other in angry stamps.

"I see my betrayal was expected," calls Petracles.

"Expect nothing less from scum," Xena bites.

"You planned for a northern attack. Very good. I am a little surprised though Xena, I assumed you would strike my head off on sight."

"What makes you think I won't?"

"Because I'd be dead already. You see behind me Xena," says Petracles and she looks over his shoulder at four other approaching riders. Glancing behind her own shoulder, she sees her brother riding toward her, Gabrielle behind him in the saddle, Dimas and Ganix not far behind them. "That's Cortese and his officers approaching to make an offer of peace," finishes Petracles. Indeed, Xena can tell from the elaborate armor and plumed feather on the helmet of one rider, that it is indeed Cortese himself.

"You think me a fool?" asks Xena, a dark humor in her tone.

"No, not a fool. Just a little girl way out of her league," answers Petracles.

Xena hears her war party arrive behind her.

"You bastard!" shouts Lyceus to the smirking traitor.

"No weapon, Lieutenant? Not fighting today?" taunts Petracles, the riders trotting up behind him. Lyceus' retort is bitten off by the cruel laugh that cuts through the roar of the rain. From the arriving party, the warrior with the feather and pompous gait rides forward.

"So this is the Rebel of Amphipolis?" he laughs, his officers joining in on the joke.

Xena narrows her eyes. "And this is the Butcher of Thessaly?" she smirks, speaking his title as the insult it is.

"I've earned it, little girl," says Cortese.

"So you have," she replies, remaining cool despite the burning hatred that wells in her chest.

"Do you know how much blood I've spilt?" he challenges.

Xena studies his face a moment, noting that it was clear of any scars, that his skin was smooth and olive-colored. She guessed he was from the south.

"I asked you a question little girl," he barks, stirring his dark horse.

"And I am not interested in the answer," says the young warrior, "and the name is Xena."

"Oceans of blood," snarls Cortese, "seas of blood."

"And here the weasel says you wanted to talk of peace," Xena gestures to Petracles who threatens her with a menacing look.

"Oh yes, I do intend to talk of peace. But my kind of peace. Lay down your weapons now and my army will make your deaths quick."

"Funny, I was about to say the same to you." Xena lifts a bored eyebrow.

Cortese laughs a tight-lipped laugh, and it seems caught somewhere in his throat. "Bravado is a youthful mistake, warrior princess. Pride is a quick death."

"Then how is it you are not dead?" returns Xena, beginning to enjoy this mudslinging. If there is anything that she enjoyed more than hunting or fishing, it was talking trash to an opponent; two brothers will do that to you.

Cortese merely smiles, cocking his head strangely at his enemy. "I will so enjoy your blood dripping down my blade,  _Xena,_ " he intones her name as if it were a curse.

"Then let it run quick as to spare you the satisfaction." 

It is now that Xena hears the voice of her bard, interrupting their pissing contest.

"Cortese!" Gabrielle yells, motioning for Lyceus to draw them up closer on their mount.

"Who's this pretty young blonde, Xena? Your whore?" Cortese's men laugh at their Lord's feckless joke.

"My name is Gabrielle, Brigadier to the General Xena of the Thracian Resistance, Bard of Potidaea, and Queen of the Eastern Amazons," she says, as if rattling off a grocery list.

Even Xena looks around at that, never having heard before the Queen of the Amazons part.

"Well, then Queen Gabrielle," Cortese dips into a mock bow, "what have you to say on behalf of your Warrior Princess? It would seem mere peasants are inventing titles of royalty for themselves."

Shrugging off this comment, Gabrielle continues, "Is there no chance of peace between us?"

Cortese's officers laugh uproariously at that and Lyceus lays a hand on Gabrielle's leg.

"Don't. It's not worth it. Animals cannot understand what you speak of, " he says.

"Yes," says the bard, "but even animals do not kill each other senselessly. Look here Cortese, we outnumber you three-to-one, we have more than enough provisions to break a siege and we know your men are tired from their campaign."

"Three-to-one my horse's ass," spits Cortese, "of shepherds and tradesmen! While I have assassins, convicted murders, mercenaries who work for something more substantial than weak notions of brotherhood; they work for cold hard coin and blood, did I mention the blood?" Cortese spits onto the ground.

"I'm just asking that you consider the facts," says Gabrielle, unfazed, "I ask you fervently for peace, but if you say that it is impossible, then our superior army will crush your band of petty criminals into talc. We are not afraid to fight, or to die. And we will win."

Xena has a stupid smile on her face by the end of this exchange and when Cortese glances furiously from to this bard-Amazon, he catches the look on her face. Xena merely quirks an eyebrow.

"You heard her," she says, simply.

"This is  _war_ ," snarls Cortese, flecks of spittle flying from the sides of his mouth around clenched teeth. And with that, he digs a sharp heel into the ribcage of his horse and whips it around to ride away from that insufferable rebel. His officers follow suit, and only Petracles lingers to pay Xena one last sentiment.

"I cannot wait to meet you in battle, Warrior Princess," he says.

"Pray that you don't," Xena answers.

 

As the party rides back to the gathered legions, Lyceus urges his horse into a parallel trot beside his sister.

"Good trash talkin'," he says and he feels the shudder of Gabrielle's laughter behind him. "You too," he reaches behind him and slaps playfully at the bard's thigh.

"Yeah, well Cortese certainly needs a lesson in the art," Xena replies, her eyes far off. The rain had let up slightly, but the sky was darkening fast and she knew it would not hold through the night. She had to get her men ready for an attack and fast. Xena thinks back to the advice her elder self had given: attack fast and surprise him, it is the only way to gain the advantage.

"All right, listen up!" Xena yells to her soldiers."We have met Cortese's party and agreed on terms of war."

Lyceus reflected on Xena's ability to make what transpired a few moments ago anything more than the undignified slinging of insults.

"So we're actually fighting?" one voice calls out from the second line.

"Yes," answers Xena as she searches for the face that belongs to the voice. Stepping out of ranks, Alaethea makes herself visible to her general. Xena grimaces and swings down from Nikos.

"At ease!" she calls to her men. She stalks toward her erstwhile lover and stops only a hair's breath from her face.

"What do you think you're doing?" demands Xena.

"Joining the good fight," Alaethea answers.

"You were not well for days."

"I am well now," she counters.

"Go back to the hospice."

"I'm fighting."

"No, you are not."

"Xena, stop it! Listen to me," she lowers her voice so that only the warrior can hear, "You think that you can twist my love for you into a power over me? Well, you can't, not anymore. I'm fighting, and that's the end of it."

"Fine, kill yourself," says Xena, "I'm sick of saving you from yourself."

"You never could and you never will."

For a second, Xena contemplates turning her back on Alaethea right then and there. But she knows this is probably the last she will ever speak with the woman.

"I know," Xena whispers, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I couldn't."

And by the hollow look in those crystalline blue eyes that she had loved from the age of six, Alaethea knew that her friend is sincere.

"You looked so beautiful on Nikos earlier, my warrior princess racing the wind," says Alaethea quietly, her pretty grey eyes filling with tears.

Leaning in quickly, Xena presses her lips to the young woman's pale cheek, laying to rest all the horrible things they had ever done to each other. "I love you," says Alaethea when they part.

"I know," answers Xena, feeling guilt at her inability to say anything more.

"Xena," Gabrielle appears at the warrior's shoulder. Once she had noticed to whom Xena had been talking, the bard's thoughts immediately turned to Ares. "Is something the matter?" she asks, looking at Alaethea.

"No, everything is sorted here," says Xena. She nods to Alaethea, who returns the gesture, and turns to walk with Gabrielle back to her horse.

"Xena, we need to prepare for an all-out frontal attack. I just think that the best way to gain first advantage is to surprise him," says Gabrielle.

The smile on Xena's face is inexplicable. "Good plan, bard," she says, slinging an arm around Gabrielle's shoulders. "So, Queen of the Amazons, huh?" says Xena, nonchalantly.

"Yep. Long story," replies Gabrielle; she brings a hand up to her brow to wipe away the rain dripping down.

Suddenly, Xena loses her good humor. She remembers her conversation with her older self and she remembers what Gabrielle is planning to do this battle. She plans to die today. And no way in Tartarus is Xena going to let that happen. She halts them a moment next to their horses putting a hand on the bard's shoulder. She feels her brother's eyes watching the scene play out, waiting for his queue. They had discussed his part in the plan and Lyceus knew what he had to do. Truth be told however, he had been very confused by the desperate manner with which his sister had asked for help. She spoke as though it were a matter of life or death.

"Listen Gabrielle," Xena lowers her voice and leans in so that her lips brush against her lover's ear, "I know everything."

But before these words sink into Gabrielle's understanding, she finds her wrists crushed in Xena's grip and a long strap of leather being wound around them.

"Xena!" she cries, "What are you doing?" But Xena does not answer, she merely continues to bind Gabrielle's hands together. And when Gabrielle fully comprehends Xena's actions, she begins to struggle. But Xena had prepared for this and stooped to sling the smaller woman over her shoulder. Gabrielle kicks her legs and bucks against the warrior's hold. But Xena merely lifts her up to sit her in front of Lyceus on his draft-horse and he takes hold of her arms; she tries to squirm free of the siblings' hands, but Xena manages to bind her leg to the saddle.

"Xena! Please!" Gabrielle is in near hysterics now and it breaks the warrior's heart to be doing this to someone she loves. And, after all, she is doing this for her love of Gabrielle. "Please don't do this," Gabrielle pleads, "who told you? Was it Athena? Artemis?"

"No god spoke with me," replies Xena, her voice rough with emotion.

"Then who?" commands Gabrielle. Xena leans close to Gabrielle's thigh, laying her cheek against her cool, damp skin. Gabrielle kicks her leg and jars her lover and Xena looks up into the bard's green eyes, her hands gently stilling the bard's leg.

"The future," says Xena, quietly.

And then Gabrielle understands exactly who Xena had talked to; the truth is apparent in the look in her partner's eyes. Gabrielle tries to lower herself closer to Xena, but her bindings prohibit that motion. Xena whirls away from her one moment and in another, she is Nikos' saddle. She guides Nikos by the draft-horse's side, sparing a pained glance at her brother who had bitten his lip and made it bleed. Xena puts a hand under Gabrielle's chin, as she had sunk over and lay draped over the horse's broad neck in her grief. Slowly, Gabrielle raises herself at Xena's touch and sits level in the saddle to look her lover in the eye.

"Be strong," says Xena, barely containing the sob that threatened to break lose from her chest.

"Don't do this...Oh, please don't do this... Xena, let me... Let me do it, please don't...I  _beg_  you, if you love me..." Gabrielle continued, her voice lost in errant pleadings and then in the fabric of Xena's embrace. And, gathering all the courage, strength and resolve of the warrior, Xena pressed her lips quickly to Gabrielle's forehead, half sobbing the kiss and pulls herself away. She looks to her brother, tears now falling shamefully down her beautiful face.

"Take care of her, huh?" she says, clasping Lyceus' forearm. Lyceus nods, tears too running unchecked down his ruddy cheeks.

"Nooo!" Gabrielle moans, struggling again in the saddle.

Xena looks once more at the bard, then at her brother. "I love you both," she says, then gives a slap to the rump of the horse. "Get on!" she yells and they take off toward Amphipolis. Xena watches as they gallop away and she feels a surge of happiness at their escape. Then, she sees with her keen vision as Gabrielle turns her head back, her damp blonde hair fanning in the wind, a devastated look etched on her face. Xena hates that that look is the last image of her love that she will ever see.


	17. Chapter 17

**XVII.**

The Thracian Resistance watch as a single flaming arrow flies through the sky, as it careens over the treetops, burns through the rain and lands in a tuft of reeds only a few lengths from where Nikos stands, his mistress upon his back. Sliding down from the saddle of her mount, Xena stalks to the flaming arrow and wretches it from the reeds; she marks the grey goose and green peacock feathers of the arrow's fletching. This is a threat.

Striding back to her horse, Xena nearly leaps into the saddle and rides to where Dimas and Ganix sit on their own mounts at the front lines of the army.

"Dimas!" she calls, bringing Nikos to a halt.

"Xena?" he answers.

"With Gabrielle and Lyceus off the field, you know that command of the northern line falls to you," she says in a hurry.

"I know. What's going on, Xena?" he says.

"Yes, why are they not fighting?" asks Ganix.

"Name your second, Dimas" she bites.

"Maybe if you told us, we might be able to help––" begins Dimas.

"Your General gave you an order!" Xena barks, losing patience.

Dimas holds her stare a moment, then averts his eyes in submission. "Aye, Xena," he says, "I name Ganix."

Xena nods. "Rally the soldiers. Prepare for an aggressive attack. Hit his front lines fast and hard. I'll be with the contingency in the west, just like we planned."

Dimas nods, and Xena feels confident in her election, confident in the fierce look in her friend's eyes. He grasps her forearm. "Until the gods take us," he says.

Xena nods, then turns to Ganix. They grasp each other's forearms and the brute of a man smiles a black-toothed smile.

" _Thánatos oudèn diaphérei tou zên"_ Ganix rumbles the saying of the old philosophers: Death is no different than life.

"On the contrary, I pray it is," replies Xena.

Just then, a roar rises up from the northern forests. It is an Akkadian chant, undulating dangerously from the mouths of Cortese's men; they stamp their feet and pound their war drums. They are trying to intimidate them. It is true, as Xena glances over her men, she sees the retreating backs of those who feel the intended fear. She doesn't blame them for deserting. It is finally becoming real for these villagers: No longer is it training yards and townhall dances to raise dinars for the war effort. Now, it is this corporeal field and the threat of death blowing stiffly on the wind.

Xena scans the treeline, listening with every sense in her body for a movement that would signal Cortese's position. The trees grow silent, a stillness sets over the fields. Xena knows that this is the signal. The roar rises up once more, and the enemy army comes pouring out of the treeline in droves.

"For the Resistance!" screams Xena, "Charge!" She kicks Nikos into a gallop and she feels a rush steal over her as the raging river of her army lays pursuit. Her army lets out a furious battle cry and she yells along with them, brandishing her sword high and riding like the wind. However, instead of riding headlong into the frontal assault, she veers her steed west. A moment later, and Xena can hear the violent clash of steel-on-steel. On her path is the lagging front line of Cortese's army and she sees that she must break through six men to get to the western plateau. She tightens her hold on the hilt of her sword, loops the reins around the saddle horn and hugs her knees close to Nikos' beating sides.

The first man she meets, she kills in one stroke of her blade. Xena barely has a thought to spare for the first life she has taken; she will not remember his face. What takes hold of her instead is a black fury, a naked bloodlust and when three other men try to take hold of her horse's bridle, she vaults from the saddle. With a powerful backhand slash to the head, she drops two of them; she breaks the neck of the third. And when the last two finally make to contest her, she ducks under one's blade, breaks the wrist of the other. They are left in the rain-soaked mud and when Xena whistles for Nikos, the last man dies. When the warrior princess takes off in a fast gallop for the western hills, she barely notices the blood in her wake.

 

The women and children gathered in the town hall cannot understand why the woman who had led them in their preparations, who had shown compassion and yet firm wisdom, who had told them stories full of moral purpose lay bound and sobbing on a cot in their hospice. Orders of the General Xena, they heard. Many began to think that their leader had snapped, made rash decisions in the heat of imminent war and disbanded her Second and her Lieutenant. And so there brooded a dissent and deep debate among the people gathered there. Lyceus stood in the midst of it, defending his sister.

"I don't understand all of it, either!" he snarls, pointing a finger at Necreos who was leading the dissent.

"And yet you obey her!" snaps the magistrate.

"She's my sister, I trust her. Hasn't she proven herself enough to you people!" he shouts, addressing the crowd at large now. "Hasn't Xena poured her blood and her sweat into defending you all?"

"No one is questioning what she has done," says Zelos the alchemist, limping from the bed where Gabrielle's crumpled form lays. He comes to Lyceus' side and puts a weathered hand on the young man's shoulder. "The people here trust Gabrielle, she is who they have come to know best. I'm sure the soldiers feel more loyal to Xena. We merely want to know why the General has done away with her counsel."

"I'll say it again," Lyceus repeats, his facial muscles tweaking in anger, "I trust my sister and Xena asked that Gabrielle, however involuntarily, step off the field and that I keep her from it. And I will say one thing, there are forces at work this day far greater than a peasants' war against a warlord and Xena is dealing with them the best way she knows how."

A moan wracks through Gabrielle at that and Lyceus rushes to her side, abandoning the confused looks of his townsfolk. He kneels at the bard's side and puts a comforting hand to the woman's tear-swollen cheek.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, not knowing what to say. The blonde makes a choking sound, then raises up on her elbow, her hands still bound together.

"She's going to die, Lyceus," she whispers fiercely.

"What?" he answers, "Who's going to die?"

"Xena, she will, she's going to die," Gabrielle sobs, "and I need to stop her, please Lyceus, she doesn't understand everything that will happen, she doesn't understand, please..." The young man, with eyes so similar to the one she loved, hugged the trembling woman in his arms, not understanding her incoherent grief-ridden rambling. But Gabrielle will not be comforted, and she merely wretches herself from his grasp and hooks her bound fingers on the front of his vest.

"We need to  _do_ something!" she hisses. "We can't let her die!"

Lyceus sees the truth in his friend's eyes. He bites his lip, stirring the scab that had formed earlier and making it bleed once more; it was a terrible nervous habit.

"I'll go," he says, "I'll stop her."

"No!" Gabrielle maintains her grip on his vest. "You can't! I can't lose you too! She doesn't understand. Please, not you too. Let me go, it's the only way."

"If I let you go, then I will only be killing Xena a second time," he answers. Then, Lyceus stands, sparing a look to the woman he loves. Turning, he takes off in the direction of the door.

"Lyceus!" Gabrielle screams. "Someone, stop him!" A few of the stronger women move to block the young man's retreat, but he merely shoves them aside with purpose.

"Lyceus!" yells Gabrielle, and he disappears out the door.

 

As Xena approaches the high ground of the plateau, she catches a peripheral movement in the foliage and she draws her sword. Then, crashing through the branches, appears Leon, her heavily breathing runner.

"Hail, Xena!" he salutes. 

She slows Nikos and Leon walks alongside her as she trots toward her waiting legion.

"Four legions in the north, all massed in the field. Cortese didn't split forces at all," reports Leon.

"Good news, finally," Xena says, "Good work, Leon. Once you regain your breath, I want you run to the field, then find me in the north-western forest and report what you see."

"Aye, Princess," he says, bringing up a hand again in salute.

Xena rides to where her men stand in ready. Among them, she spots Aidos and Themis.

"You step from your posts?" she roars at the two magistrates.

"With all due respect," says Aidos, "we wanted to ride along with your party. We have our centurians in the north."

"Fine," Xena relents, choosing not to waste time on the issue, "As long as you understand who is in command here."

"Aye, General," Themis says and Aidos acknowledges his colleague's assent. Turning her attention to the rest of her legion, Xena addresses them in a breathless command.

"We march north and take position behind Cortese's line to cut off their retreat. Pick off the westernmost stragglers, our objective is to force them into one line of fire for the archers on the northern gate. Are you with me?" she shouts. The men brandish their weapons and shout their commitment. Xena swings down from Nikos and gives a slap to its rump, sending him running off in the direction the northern fields. "Let's go," she says, taking off on a jog down the embankment and into the trees. Her men follow her into the fray.

 

As Lyceus rides out toward the battlefield, he can hear the sounds of war: He hears the clash of swords, the braying of horses, the screams of men in anguish and in victory. He feels a potent fear settle in him as he scans the mess of the battle; he sees a man's head cleaved from his body; he sees concave chests spilling their entrails; he sees one mercenary bury his sword to the hilt in back of another man's neck, down the length of his spine; he sees endless blood, blind wild fury in the eyes of those fighting. He then begins to understand what Gabrielle meant by horror when she spoke of war. This is truly a horror.

Lyceus frantically searches the roiling mass of fighting for the purple streak of his sister's cape, for the glint of her slashing sword. He does not see her and suddenly, it occurs to him that she is leading the contingent in the north. However, before he can decide to move in that direction, he spots a familiar face among the soldiers. He watches as Alaethea wields her sword with abandon, ducking sloppily under a blow from her enemy, yet failing to see the knee the warrior sent into her abdomen. Alaethea falls with surprising grace at the warrior's feet and he does not hesitate to drive his sword hard down into her shoulder. Lyceus leaps off his horse and runs in their direction. Realizing at the last moment that he carries no weapon, he crashes headlong into the warrior's side, knocking him away from Alaethea.

Stunned, the warrior momentarily loses his balance, and Lyceus uses this opportunity to deliver a healthy backhand to his face and to sweep a leg under his legs. Stepping on the hilt of the warrior's unhanded sword, he sends it jumping in the air and into his waiting hand. With only a second's hesitation, he thrusts the point of the sword into the man's chest and he watches life leave the man's eyes. Turning from his kill, Lyceus sweeps to Alaethea's side. He finds her badly wounded and bleeding profusely from a gaping puncture in her shoulder.

"Come on," he says, gathering the smaller woman into his arms, "let's get you out of here."

He whistles for his horse and when the beast beckons at his master's call, Lyceus heaves Alaethea up on the saddle and swings up behind her. She sags over in pain and the young man has to use all his strength to keep her in the saddle. Kicking his mount into a gallop, he rides toward town. Xena would not have wanted him to leave her.

 

As Xena moves deftly and silently through the thick underbrush and vined trees of the northern forest, the sky darkens and all traces of day sink beneath the horizon. In a few moments, their path will be utterly obscured by darkness. She cannot change the lighting of torches, for fear that Cortese's men will detect their assault. Behind her, she can feel the support of her loyal soldiers moving with an amount of stealth. She had chosen a task force of mostly men from Amphipolis, not only because she could trust in her kinfolk, but because they knew the wood as well as her. Indeed, after so many seasons of running as a child through these very woods, chasing Toris and Lyceus by the riverside and up through the northern copse, after so many hunting trips for the quail that like to settle here, Xena knew these woods like she knew her own body. And so they moved as a unit over the uneven terrain.

In the distance now, they can hear the sounds of the battle raging on the northern fields. Xena spares a thought to Dimas, hoping that he can keep ranks for another assault long enough for her team to get into place. And then, she thinks of Gabrielle, praying that her brother had managed to keep her in the safety of town hall.

When the party reaches a ledge in the terrain, Xena signals them to a halt with a simple hand gesture. Peering over the ledge, she can see Cortese's command tent, illumined by lanterns in the dusk. She spies also three pieces of artillery and a band of archers waiting at the back lines. Their numbers match evenly and so the young warrior decides to take a chance on it. Motioning to Aidos and Themis, she sinks behind the ledge once more.

"We're going to descend and take out as many as we can. Aidos, Themis, take ten men around the left embankment, I'll take the others down the right. You go for the artillerymen; we'll go for the archers. Let's make this quick and silent," she commands.

The two men nod and her plan is put into action. Xena signals her halved group and they move together down the ledge, careful to make their movements quiet.

Xena pauses behind a towering oak tree, and signals for her men to halt. She whirls around the side of the tree and creeps toward the unassuming archers. The warrior princess manages to break two necks and slide her boot dagger across the necks of three others before alerting suspicion. A surprisingly quiet fight ensues between Cortese's alternate line and the Rebels. And with only a minor loss in their own rank, Xena's legion manages to capture the artillery.

She runs toward her men gathered around three catapults, not wishing to chance Cortese discovering them now. Then, by instinct, Xena happens to glance to her right and spots the wide-eyed stare of a young warrior in a tunic with green and grey fabric; Xena assumes he is Cortese's messenger or his spy. When the young man understands that he has been spotted, he takes off in the direction of the command tent.

"Light those catapults!" she screams and a bright orange glow in her peripheral vision confirms her command.

"Cortese!" the messenger shoats. And just as the name struggles out his throat, Xena rounds on him and throttles him by the neck. She pulls her dagger and buries it in the young man's side and he lets out an anguished, animal sound. His scream reminds Xena of the harvest pig slaughter. She drops her kill to the ground, registering the gelatinous dark blood that now covers her hands. But she has no time to wallow because at that moment the catapults release with a whirring boom and the far-off echo of a direct hit on the field confirms its path.

The sounds of exploding mortar drawl Cortese and his Lieutenant from the command tent. The Butcher of Thessaly has a murderous look on his face as he tries to understand what has happened. With a brief look around, he spots Xena standing there, his spy dead at her feet and  _his_  catapults slinging  _his_ shells at  _his own_ army. With a barbarous yell, he takes off in the direction of the Warrior Princess. His fury nearly blinds him when he sees her blood-soaked face smile in the firelight.

"Fall back!" yells Xena, turning from Cortese. She and her men take off through the trees, toward the northern fields that now stand ablaze with war.

"Take the back lines!" she screams as she runs full stride, dark hair loosed from its plait and streaming in the wind, into the fury of battle.

Xena and her legion attack from behind, surprising Cortese's men. Using the advantage of their enemies' surprise, Xena and her men cut down every warrior in their path. Behind her, she can hear the battle horn that signals a retreat of the warlord's line.

Overjoyed at the desired outcome of her plan, Xena viciously laughs as she kicks at the backside of one warrior, sending him sprawling into a burning pile of battle refuse. The man catches fire and Xena glories in the tall flames that crown the mercenary's head; she takes pleasure in his screams.

"Run! You cowards!" she yells at Cortese's retreating line. A cheer erupts from the Rebel army at their first victory.

Then, at her side appears Dimas, his armor thoroughly dirtied by mud, rain, and blood.

"Dimas!" Xena exclaims, clasping his arm.

"It worked! By the gods, Xena, it really worked!" he yells, a triumphant smile on his face.

"We haven't won yet," she tempers, "Be prepared to lead another frontal assault. We can't give Cortese time to regroup. Let's drawl 'em to the gate, I want you at the archers' command. Now go!"

With a salute, Dimas runs off to carry out his General's will.

"Form up!" yells Xena, directing her voice at the rest of her army. "Form up!" She takes in the sight and realizes that the Resistance had suffered a greater loss than she expected; nearly a third of her original army had been wounded or killed. She guessed Cortese didn't pillage half of Greece without some truth to his infamy: He had skilled warriors. Now was not a time to reassess, however, now was a time for action.

"Form up!" she calls again and watches the men assume some semblance of order. "We can't allow them a full retreat! Be ready to charge!"

And as the field blazes with fire and wounded horses moan, the Rebel army takes off behind their fearless young leader. If there were some who would survive this night, they would remember the echoing flames in the Warrior Princess' eyes, how she charged the lines of the enemy with the might of Achilles and they would remember how her cape caught in the wind as she ran, and how the flames seemed to part like waves before her.

 

In town, the hospice was in a frenzy. Wounded men lay draped over cots crowded onto the two tiers of the town hall, bleeding onto the polished floors, and filling the rooms with the sounds of their agony. Zelos and a team of trained healers move among them and try to administer aid to those they could help. In one corner lay rows of the dead, packed like fish and wrapped in bloodied shrouds.

When Lyceus had thundered through the door with Alaethea in tow, Gabrielle nearly fainted in relief. She had convinced one of the others to release her from her bondage, under promise to those faithful to Xena, that she would not leave the hospice. She had rushed to Lyceus' side, inspecting him for any wounds.

"I'm fine," he cried, "It's her that needs help."

"Bring her over here," commanded Gabrielle, gesturing to a vacant spot among the wounded. All the cots were occupied at the moment. Lyceus did as he was told, and lay his charge down on the floor as gently as he could.

"Get me some rags, water, and a stitching kit," says Gabrielle, kneeling at Alaethea's side.

The young woman moans, her skin the sickly shade of an oyster pearl.

"Calm down now, you're going to be fine," says Gabrielle, grabbing hold of Alaethea's hand.

"You!" cries the woman, "Not you! Oh please, anyone but you!"

"I'm trying to help you," says Gabrielle, as Lyceus appears back at her side with the things she had asked for. "Hold her still," says the bard to Lyceus. He takes hold of Alaethea's shoulder and she screams in pain. "This'll be over in a second," soothes Gabrielle, taking the rags and dipping them in the fresh water. She begins to clean the wound in the woman's shoulder where the tip of the sword had exited in her chest, then gestures for Lyceus to sit her up so that she can repeat the treatment on her back.

"Let me die," sobs Alaethea, clutching at Lyceus' sleeves.

"Hush now, you're not going to die," says Gabrielle, threading the bone needle with a bit of sinewy catgut. The bard then begins to pass the needle through the edges of the still bleeding wound, trying to seal it with small stitches. Alaethea's cries of pain are drowned by the other wounded who are receiving equally as terrible treatment. When Gabrielle finishes stitching Alaethea's wound, she motions for Lyceus to lay her down back on the floor.

"Can you try to find a poultice and a spare blanket?" asks Gabrielle. Lyceus nods and moves away.

Gabrielle kneels wearily next to Alaethea's shuddering body. She tries to swallow the panic in her throat; the night was dragging on and all she had heard of the battle was that Xena's north-western contingency plan had worked. At the least, she knew that her warrior was still alive. A shuddering gasp draws her back to the present reality of her charge.

"Shh, it's okay," Gabrielle comforts, pressing Alaethea's dangerously cool hand between her own.

"You– you love her," Alaethea gasps.

"What's that?" says Gabrielle.

"Xena– you love her..."

"Yes, I love her."

"Then s–save her," manages Alaethea, clutching at her chest. She tears at the cloth that covers her, and writhes on the floor, her forehead beading with cold sweat. The once beautiful girl clutches at Gabrielle's sleeves, bringing the blonde close to her face; a trickle of blood falls from her nose.

"Ares... Ares told me all," she whispers, a red bubble blooming on her lip. Gabrielle is too stricken to answer and feels Alaethea's hands slacken from her hold. The woman falls back on the floor and she smiles up at Gabrielle.

"So, t–tell me, Gabrielle," she shivers, "how long did it take for Xena to get what she wanted?"

Tears fill the bard's green eyes as Alaethea sputters, then heaves a very labored breath, lungs filling with blood, and sinks further down on the floor. Her pretty grey eyes widen; a tear suspended on one long eyelash falls and trickles down her pale cheek and she remains still.

"No!" Gabrielle moans, laying herself across Alaethea's chest. "Oh no, no!"

She feels Lyceus next to her then, the poultice and blanket forgotten beside them. He pulls her gently from the hollow body of his friend and wraps his arms around Gabrielle.

"I thought she was going to live," he whispers, thick tears clouding his vision and falling deftly into Gabrielle's blonde hair.

"I'm sorry," says Gabrielle. Then, a stillness passes over her and if Lyceus had not been distracted by his own grief, he would recognize the look of resolve in her eyes. She gets up from his side and winds through the aisles of sick and wailing soldiers and the blood-stained aprons of the healers. Lyceus stands and follows her to the back stock room.

When he enters, he finds Gabrielle caddy-cornered next to the excess bags of grain, with her back turned, her shoulders stiff.

"Gabrielle," he calls to her.

Turning slowly around, Gabrielle gives Lyceus a broken look. "This has to end, this violence," she says, "I'm sorry, Lyceus."

It is much too late when Lyceus sees the thick glass bottle of port in Gabrielle's hand and all he knows is blackness thereafter.

 

She feels the spray of hot blood across her cheek, a searing pain. An enemy sword had found its way close enough to the Rebel General to nick her face. Momentarily put off-balance, Xena misses a second warrior charging her from the right and feels the heavy pressure of a glaive in her side. Ducking from a second swing of the other's sword, Xena underhands her own sword and catches the attacker in the chest, then finishes the other with a deadly downward slash to his femoral artery. They had chased the mercenaries back to their own treeline and were pressing advantage still.

Leaping onto a massive tree root that had been bombed out by the catapults, Xena assesses the position of her enemy. Cortese's army has been on the defense for the entirety of the battle thus far and she likes the look of his dwindled numbers. Xena reckons that this is a perfect time to pull of false retreat and tempt Cortese onto the offense; he'll be angry enough to press forward. And he'll press forward right through the pass and into the archers that wait with Dimas on the northern wall. Xena smiles, she couldn't have dreamed a better execution of her strategy; Cortese was floundering. For a moment, her dark sense of humor kicks in, and she pities herself in being deprived of the bragging rights. Too bad I have to die, she laughs. Oh well, I'm taking that bastard down with me. Xena smiles once again.

"Fall back!" she yells and takes off in a fearsome run. "Fall back!" she calls. Somewhere, she can hear the sound of her own army's horn of retreat.

 

Cortese hears the horn as well and he pumps his fist in the air. It seemed a rash time for Xena to call a retreat, but Cortese did not question his opportunity. Perhaps the bitch was wounded. Smiling evilly to himself, he grasps the collar of his Second Lieutenant, Axius.

"Prepare for an all-out attack," spits Cortese.

"But sir––" protests Axius.

"Attack them! Kill them all, every last one of 'em, you hear?" he shouts.

"Aye," salutes Axius. The warrior then calls out among his band of tired and battle-worn thugs; they were down to nearly half their original number. Axius was a mercenary, yes, but he wasn't stupid, nor was he as hot-headed as his General. He didn't know why the Warrior Princess called a retreat and for that, he distrusted the act. Quite against his natural credence, this young warrior woman had impressed Axius thus far. Her tactics had been bold and well-executed and the warrior in him gave respect where respect was due; he had also been astounded at how beautiful a woman the rebel leader was. He thinks that it is a probable possibility that Cortese will lose today to this Thracian army and he thinks about the merit in deserting now instead of later. However, this campaign has his blood racing and the battle-lusting part of him wishes to see what other cards the Princess holds in her deck. And, after all, he is not paid to think; he is paid to do.

"Attack!" yells Axius.

 

From the northern wall, Dimas stands with a band of fifteen archers at his back.

"Keep an eye for Xena's signal!" he calls. From this vantage, he can see the field lit in a dusky orange glow, steam and smoke rising from its plains. And then, in the darkened clouds of the night sky, he sees a single flaming arrow. Recognizing this for what it is, Dimas turns to the archers and moves out of their line of fire. Torches burn along the fortified battlements, and he holds a hand in the air.

"Archers! Be ready!" he yells. The men and women pull arrows from their quivers and set the shafts on the tightened bowstrings; they pull the bowstring taut in tandem. And alternatively, they light the ends of their oil-soaked arrows in the torch flames.

Then, over the small hill from the field rises a swarm of their brother soldiers. Dimas spots Xena running nearly at the head, her sword clutched firmly in her hand. Then, she catches Dimas' position and brandishes the sword above her head. Over Xena's shoulder, the advancing enemy army appears, gaining steadily at the backs of the rebel soldiers. Well, if anything, that was a signal, thinks Dimas.

"Fire!" he calls. Two dozen flaming arrows light the night sky and rain down on Cortese's men.

"Re-stock!" he orders. The archers light their arrows once more. "Fire!"

A second wave of arrows fall down upon the enemy. And when their range is limited, Dimas orders them to shoot at will. Jumping down from his post, he charges into battle to join Xena.

They fight valiantly, knocking off a good portion of Cortese's remaining legion. The rebels move as one now, all their forces now united in a single assault. They drive the enemy back and back until Cortese is surrounded by their superior numbers. From Xena's place on the battlefield, she sees the singed feather plume of a helmet glinting in the firelight. She smiles wickedly to herself, advancing on Cortese as he cuts down one of Xena's own in one powerful stroke. When the Butcher raises his sword to finish his enemy off, Xena manages to slide through the mud and get her blade beneath his. Realizing who had attacked him, Cortese roars and launches forward in a brutal attack.

Evading one blow and getting herself on her feet, Xena blocks the next swing. The warlord has surprising strength and Xena feels a little fear pitting in her stomach. She knows she cannot die until sunrise, which is still a few candlemarks away. Releasing a loud battle cry, Xena takes a running leap, launching herself off of the back of one of the fallen and flips over Cortese's head. The warlord barely manages to get his sword overhead to block her brutal blow. Twisting, with their swords crossed, the two Generals lean into each other; if the blades were missing from their hands, one may think the two were dancing a waltz.

"Give it up, Cortese!" hisses Xena.

"Swine!" he spits, "I will never give into peasant scum!"

"Hate to break it to you, love, but it may not be your decision much longer."

"I have reserves in the foothills," whispers Cortese, shoving the warrior princess back a few steps.

"A bluff!" counters Xena, not entirely sure that it was a bluff. But, Cortese spins out her their gridlock and brings his sword under Xena's pommel and wretches the weapon from her hands. The sword flies away from Xena's reach, and Cortese arcs his blade down. With a duck and feint, she avoids the next blows, looking desperately around for something to use as a weapon. Then, Cortese charges her, using his brute strength to overpower the smaller woman. He drops a knee into Xena's abdomen and she doubles over; he then takes a fistful of her black hair and yanks her upward so that her eyes and his lock together. He wants to watch the light drain from those blue eyes.

"Such a pretty girl," he says, running a foul-tasting thumb over her lips. "Good night, sweet Princess." Taking a breath, and hocking her throat, Xena spits in Cortese's face. And for a moment, while he recovers from the shock, she looks at his face. The battle waging around her suddenly slows, the flames slow, her heartbeat slows and in her enemy's face, she suddenly sees her own face replacing his. She watches as her warlord identical draws her sword back, and when the sword thrusts forward it is suddenly Cortese's face once more. And as she reacts, he suddenly disappears from her vision as someone had thrown her aside. Looking back, she catches Dimas falling away from the end of Cortese's sword. He holds his chest, falling backward, and is dead before he hits the ground.

"No!" Xena rasps, her voice gone. Standing once more, she finds a discarded sword and charges in the Butcher's direction. But her warpath is blocked by one Petracles, who knocks her sword aside and gets a palpable, but not a serious hit to Xena's face. Twirling around, she catches the back of Petracles' neck with the heavy hilt of her sword and he falls to his knees. She knees him once in the chin, which drops him to the sodden ground. Letting out a ragged yell, she kicks the traitor over onto his back. Putting a boot on his throat, Xena sneers down at the warrior.

"Like talc," she says and presses her boot down, crushing the man's throat. Petracles' eyes bulge and he flails for a moment before going still. Breathing heavily, Xena steps off of the body. She looks around the sparse, rugged battlefield, trying to see where Cortese had got to. He is nowhere in sight and she curses Petracles for distracting her long enough for her enemy to escape. She hears Cortese's horn of retreat and watches as his soldiers pull back. A tired yell rises up among her men, but Xena cannot rouse herself to join them. Instead, she stumbles to the sight where Dimas had fallen. Kneeling by his slain body, she drags the young man onto her lap and cradles him.

"My friend," she whispers, looking out onto the blackened fields. She stays there on the ground with her fallen friend, not seeing the decay around her, but traveling in her mind to a sunny day just last week when they had run through these fields and scared the sheep together. "My friend," she says again, finally succumbing to the weightiness and burden of war.

Then, suddenly at her side is an angelic sight and Xena swears that the flames in her golden hair are an aura of the divine. She collapses into the angel's arms, her dead friend still lying in her lap.

"Oh my love," cries Gabrielle, wrapping her arms around the tired warrior. They sit there for a while, as long as they are allowed without being disturbed which turns out only to be a brief moment.

Ganix spots them from atop his mount and rides over. He swings down from the saddle and calls out to his general. The pair turn to look at him, and as the blacksmith reaches their side, he sees who is cradled in their laps.

"Ah, gods. Not 'im," says Ganix, stooping to a kneel in honor of his friend.

"He died saving me," says Xena and Gabrielle leans close once more to her lover.

"Then 'e died honorably, a soldier for his General," says Ganix. He puts a large hand on Xena's shoulder in a gesture of comfort. Then, Ganix unfastens the ragged cape from the clip at his shoulder piece and motions for Xena and Gabrielle to lower Dimas onto the ground. The large man stoops over the fallen man and lays his cape over the body, tucking it around him like a mother would her child into bed.

"I'll take 'im back to town. Give 'im and 'is family a proper funeral on the morrow," he says.

Xena nods, standing up from the ground. "Thank you," she replies.

Ganix scoops up Dimas' body in his arms and settles him over the rump of his horse. He ties the body in place and with a lone salute to Xena, he rides off.

Xena slumps slightly, her fatigue finally catching up with her. Gabrielle takes one of Xena's arms and slings it over her own shoulder, supporting the woman's weight.

"I thought I tied you up," grins Xena.

Gabrielle smiles up into the bloodied face of her lover and even through the black smears of dirt and sweat and bruised skin, she finds Xena exquisitely beautiful.

"I escaped," Gabrielle replies.

"So it seems," says Xena, wincing a little and clutching at her side.

"We need to get you back to the hospice," says Gabrielle.

"There's no time."

"Of course there is, Cortese pulled a full retreat," she argues.

Xena smiles lazily through the pain and holds up three fingers. "Just wait..." she says, ticking each finger down in small intervals. When she ticks the last finger, Leon appears behind Gabrielle's shoulder and calls to Xena.

"You cheat," says Gabrielle.

Xena smiles in silent victory.

"Xena!" calls Leon, "I have a message from Cortese for you." When Xena turns her attention back to her messenger, she realizes that he is favoring a broken leg.

"What did he do to you?" she demands, horrified at the breach of ethics.

"S'no matter, Princess," he says, waving off her concern.

"What's your message," asks Xena.

"He wants a fair challenge, a fair fight between generals."

Inwardly, Xena celebrates not having to propose the duel herself.

"Xena, you're in no condition for a one-on-one fight," reasons Gabrielle, boring her eyes into her lover's trying to communicate more than she is saying.

"If ya ask me," says Leon, "rat like Cortese is just trying to save face for the men of his still standing."

"I think you're right," Xena agrees, dropping down onto the ground and loosening her armor. Gabrielle kneels at her side and locates the satchel of medicinal supplies that she had carried out.

She looks at Xena's face, as a look of sly pride washes over its features. The Warrior Princess glances to Leon once more.

"Tell Cortese I'm comin' for him," she says.


	18. Chapter 18

**XVIII.**

"You there, can you run fast?" A cold hand wraps around the young soldier's forearm. He looks down to see what looks to be a wounded woman and another healer, preparing her field kit. In a moment, he recognizes the tattered purple cape that hangs from a chain over the wounded woman's shoulder. Not quite knowing how to react, he drops to one knee.

"Warrior Princess," he says, in demurred respect. Xena and her companion share a smile. Mimnos is a soldier, barely old enough to marry, but he had taken up arms along with his brothers in Meride and rode fast to join the Resistance. Word had spread like wildfire through Meride, who were resilient people but not as prosperous or as large as villages like Potidaea or Amphipolis. Life in Meride could be rough and tumble some days–– errant fights would break out among the poor over something petty like a stolen apple or when one of the working women singled out a new client to toss a few freebies. So Mimnos was used to war, used to fighting. Sometimes he questioned all the reasons that propelled him to keep living, keep surviving. At fifteen summers, Mimnos had asked himself what the purpose of it all is, if it's even worth it. So, when word of Cortese came to his far corner in Meride and Xena of Amphipolis' campaign against him, Mimnos felt a new momentum propel him. What he did best was fight and so now he had a purpose. Xena had given him purpose. And when he marched out onto that northern field and he had seen with his own eyes this Warrior Princess––not much older than himself and the wrong sex––rear up on her powerful chestnut horse and scream for Peace!, Mimnos had felt a wind whip through his insides, and he recognized the force which propelled him through tens of Cortese's men and which kept him alive long enough to be here now. And now, it looked as though the Rebels might actually defeat the warlord. So, it only seemed natural when he felt the hand of Xena on his arm, to sink to his knee and give his General the respect she deserved.

"I'm serious Xena, you've got half a boot dagger in your side." Xena's blonde healer draws Mimnos back into reality.

"Then take it out," replies Xena.

"General," Mimnos says, "there's something––"

"Can you run fast?" the warrior bites, her temper short. The blond had taken to prodding at her knife wound with the end of a surgical tool.

"I can run like the wind," Mimnos replies.

"Then chase it to where my messenger walks toward Cortese's camp. His name is Leon and he's on a bad leg. Stop him and bring him back to me, wherever I am. You got that?" Xena hisses through her teeth when the healer manages to extract a finger-length piece of blade from above her rib.

Mimnos' eyes widen. "I won't let you down." Xena grimaces and nods at him, while her healer hurriedly presses a cloth over her wound to staunch the bleeding. The Meridean lays a hand on Xena's shoulder, and wonders at the touch, if now he is a blessed man. "Thank you," he says strangely and it makes Xena look up at him with her otherworldly eyes.

"Get going," Xena says.

"I don't get it," says Gabrielle, once the young soldier had rushed off, "You just sent Leon with your message to Cortese."

"They didn't break his leg for kicks," says Xena, grinning at her own pun. Then, her features turn dark once more.

"What is it, Xena?" asks Gabrielle, tying off the bandage. She moves to clean some of the other cuts on the warrior's forearms, but Xena swats her away.

"Don't bother," she says, then, "It's just something Cortese said."

"You met him on the field?" intones the bard, her heart sent aflutter. How close her lover had brushed to Death and how close to ruination her whole plan had come!

"Yes, twice. He mentioned reserve troops in the western hills." Xena stands at that and Gabrielle kneels at her feet, gathering up her medical supplies and returning the items to her satchel.

"Do you think he's bluffing?" asks Gabrielle, also standing. She slings the satchel over her shoulder.

"He may be... but he just as well may not be. In either case, I need to postpone the challenge until I know." Xena sheaths her sword and tarries some at the pain in her side. Now that the adrenaline of battle is cresting, her awareness of all her injuries has become much more acute.

"I know what you plan to do," says Gabrielle, quietly. The warrior looks out over the smoking darkness of the battlefield and watches as the strong collect the wounded and the dead. "It won't work," the bard continues, "You don't know––"

"I think you'll find me well-informed, Gabrielle, even more so than yourself," replies Xena.

"What did she tell you?" Gabrielle demands, grasping Xena's arm. The warrior merely shakes her head. "Now you're the one keeping secrets."

"And you're  _surprised_?" asks Xena, incredulity in her voice, "You know you promised not to mislead me once upon a time and then you almost carried out the perfect deceit." The warrior rounds on the bard and puts a rough hand to her lover's cheek, more so a gesture of violence than love. "Do you think I would have forgiven you for dying? I know who I am, Gabrielle. I know that I had to meet you, so that I could learn from you, so that I would know the final, the good, the right thing to do. This is  _right_. Trust me, it will work. You know me, Gabrielle, I never cared for any of the gods. I have faith in myself."

"Please..." the word seems misplaced from the usually loquacious bard. Gabrielle merely gazes up at her partner and sees less the youth and more the woman she had come to know and love through all these years.

"I've caused too much pain," says Xena, "Did you see that boy I sent after Leon? Barely a child. I've brought violence to so many people. I've brought violence to you, you who should never have learned about hatred and war. And Lyceus..." her voice breaks and when she continues, it takes on a huskier quality, "You and Lyceus are so good. The world needs people like you too much and people like me too little."

"But you have such awesome power, Xena. You can change the world. You know me too, I don't put much faith in the gods either–– I've always put it in notions of peace, in the Greater Good, in poetry and art and beauty... but, most of all Xena, I have always had faith in you. Nothing I can say will get through your thick, beautiful head sometimes. What if..." the bard's voice lowers, "what if it wasn't really your older self who visited you. Maybe it was Athena or Artemis––"

"Don't be ridiculous, Gabrielle. Why would the gods wish me dead so badly?"

"I think I've worked it out. Artemis is trying to protect me, because I am an Amazon Queen; she does not get along with Athena and Athena is the one who set this all in motion. But, I'm sure you know all about that. What the goddesses have in common, however, is their mutual hatred for Ares."

"God of War," Xena's eyes blaze, "What's he got to do with this?"

"You and he have a little history..." says Gabrielle, deciding on honesty, "a lot of history, or a lot of future. You are Ares' Chosen."

"I see," says Xena, simply. She bites her lip. But, Gabrielle is reminded of Ares' presence in Amphipolis this week and it makes her heart twinge painfully when she remembers her duty to Xena.

"Ares was in the possession of Alaethea's body," says Gabrielle and Xena shoots a glance back to her.

"What?"

"He used her love for you to manipulate the both of you. That's why she's been so ill. I believe Ares took control of her once again today, so that  _he_  could fight alongside you and  _he_ could watch you and make sure you weren't going to do anything foolish, like kill yourself. Then, when you disappeared from the field to join the reserves, he abandoned her. And.. well... Xena, I'm sorry. Alaethea was injured..." Gabrielle's voice trails off and Xena's cold eyes make her breath catch.

"Did she survive?" asks Xena, slowly. But the warrior knows that her childhood friend is lost.

"I'm sorry, Xena. I... I did all I could. She just... she lost too much blood," Gabrielle says. She watches Xena hang her head and pinch at the bridge of her nose, a gesture both brothers also share when under amounts of copious stress. The bard cannot know all the memories that pass behind those blue eyes: Memories of the lush fields of childhood; when the sun got too hot and the sheep too over-dressed, she remembers the airy plumes of wool that drifted on the summer breeze and caught in the trees and nettle on shearing day. This being her tenth season, Xena was confident in tackling a sheep and tying its legs together and clipping its wool all by herself. Nearby, however, she saw the little brunette struggling, her thin arms not strong enough to hold the scrambling animal down.

 _Alaethea!_  she had called, setting her own bare-skinned sheep free.  _I'll help you._  And together they held down the animal and together, they worked to complete the task. And when they finished, Alaethea had leaned over the bound sheep and pressed her lips firmly onto Xena's.

 _Thank you for saving me,_  she had said. That had been Xena's first kiss.

"I did all I could," the voice of another woman finds Xena's ears and she finally realizes that it belongs to Gabrielle and that Alaethea is dead.

"I know you did," says Xena, "Who killed her?"

"I'm not sure, Lyceus brought her in."

Which reminded her: "Where is my brother?"

Gabrielle looks sullenly at her boots, "He's lying around somewhere."

"I should punish you," Xena says defeatedly, "but I love you too much."

At that, the blonde pulls her lover into an embrace. "I'm sorry," she whispers in her ear, "I love you." Out of her peripheral vision, the bard watches a calvary-man swing down from his saddle to aid another wounded man. She notes that the horse is left untied a few strides from them.

"I love you. I love you. I love you," she repeats, willing the words to ingrain themselves in Xena's mind. Then, Gabrielle pulls away and looks fiercely in her lover's eyes. "Be good."

And suddenly, in a flash of movement, the bard is gone from her arms and vaulting onto the back of a nearby horse. Before Xena can even utter a cry of surprise, or anger, or loss, Gabrielle has taken off on a gallop into the night.

"Gabrielle!" screams Xena, desperately looking around for a spare horse. When none present themselves, she takes off on a torrid run in pursuit toward Cortese's camps. In less than a few leagues, however, she spots two figures in the distance struggling in her direction.

"Who goes there?" she shouts.

"It is I, Mimnos!" the one calls back. It seems he holds the other as hostage, as he struggles fiercely. Moving quickly, she finally realizes that the two are her messengers and she removes the hand that had flown to the hilt of her sword.

"Is Leon your prisoner?" asks Xena, finally drawing close enough to affirm her assumption.

"Aye, Princess," replies Mimnos.

"This boy's a lunatic!" protests Leon, trying to kick back at his captor's shins. But Mimnos is a very sturdily built young man, severely outranking the wiry Leon in strength. Xena bet Mimnos was a good fighter.

"Join the likes of Petracles or hold your tongue, traitor," spits Xena, advancing on the erstwhile messenger. She grabs him around the thick of his neck and drags him up onto his toes so that he is level with her stare. "Let's get this straight, Leon–– you, an Amphipolean, would betray your brothers, your kinfolk? Think there are spoils in playing for both sides? Well, you're wrong."

Leon makes a whimpering noise which turns into a choke as Xena tightens her hold. He struggles, grasping at her wrist with both hands. The Warrior Princess finally realizes that he is trying to talk and so releases him.

"Two," he sputters, coughing horribly, "two legions... in the west. I swear it! He plans to kill you in the challenge and then attack again with his reinforcements."

"In hopes that the Rebels will scatter without your leadership," finishes Mimnos.

Xena considers this news.

"Oh, please Xena! They tortured me under pain of death that I not tell you," Leon pleads, "Please, spare me!"

"Silence!" Xena waves a hand. She feels her bloodlust and her anxiety rise like mercury. "Your cowardice will not be rewarded. The only reason I haven't killed you yet is because I have a job for you–– a way to redeem yourself."

"Anything!" says Leon, close to tears.

"Go back to the enemy camps. Maintain that you have not spoken to me of the reserve troops. When you get back, you can expect to see Gabrielle attempt to give herself up to Cortese. You must do everything within your power  _not_ to let him kill her. Explain to him that she is my Second, that she is my lover." Both Mimnos and Leon raise their eyebrows at that and exchange a glance. "He'll want to use her as leverage against me."

Straightening his smile at the cruelty in his General's eyes, Leon nods and puts a hand up in salute.

"I will not betray you," says Leon. Xena darts a hand out and catches his arm.

"I don't normally give any second chances, let alone a third," she says. "Tell Cortese to meet me in one candlemark, in the market square." Confident that Leon knew the stakes––for, after all, she didn't really think he meant to betray her––Xena sends him on his way.

"Mimnos," says Xena, watching Leon disappear into the darkness of the wood.

"Princess?" says Mimnos, at strict attention.

"This is important, listen carefully. Go to my Lieutenant, Lyceus, and tell him to assemble our remaining forces. Tell him to station one third at the southern road, another at the northern gate and the last in the town hall. After you do that, go to the town hall and tell all the civilians to gather in the market. You got that?"

"Yes, Princess," Mimnos salutes and turns to leave when Xena stops him. Leaning close, she utters a few words which lose themselves in the pre-dawn mist.

"Good work today," she says, "once your messages are delivered, I want you to rest. You've done enough fighting today."

Mimnos nods, holding Xena's eyes. Then, he turns and disappears to the opposite front to carry out his General's command.

Xena reaches her fingers through the spaces of her breastplate and tugs the bandage tighter. She rolls her head around slowly, cracking her neck and takes a deep breath. This will have to work, she thinks, then: Gabrielle. Placing her hand on the hilt of her sword, she draws the weapon slowly from its sheath. Moving west now, Xena prepares to deliver a message of her own.

 

 

All the fires in the warlord's camp are extinguished. It is in darkness that Cortese confers with Axius and his other lieutenant, Dilawar the Persian mercenary.

"Where is that limp cock?" grunts Dilawar.

"Who?" asks Cortese.

"The warrior bitch's messenger," replies Dilawar. It had been the Persian's brethren and own following who had reinforced Cortese's ranks in the west. It had also been Dilawar's idea to stage a challenge between the two opposing generals, for surely Cortese was a skilled enough fighter to defeat a village girl. He wasn't surprised that this Xena had out-manoeuvered Cortese strategically: if she was savvy enough to assemble a competent army out of peasant farmers, then surely she possessed some intelligence. A battle of martial skill and strength, however, that was another question. Dilawar had counted on Cortese's embarrassment thus far, that perhaps his incompetence would persuade his men to switch allegiances to a different leader, to Dilawar perhaps. Or, maybe the warrior bitch would even kill him. Either way, it works out in his favor.

"Maybe Xena found him out," offers Axius.

"And how could she possibly know that? I caught the messenger running from the north, and he woulda informed his general of my hidden legions if I hadn't cracked that chicken leg of his. Nah, the kid's a twig in the wind, too piss-scared to betray us," reasons Dilawar. Speaking of which, they catch a movement through the trees and they all pause in their discussion. They hear the sound of a person dismounting from a horse, of the horse whickering and trotting off, of footsteps approaching their camp. All three men draw their swords.

"Who goes there?" calls Cortese, his voice strained. But the approacher does not answer. They wait a moment until a darkened figure emerges, and they straighten and nearly laugh when they see the slight figure of a woman.

"It's Xena's whore," says Cortese. "Hello, whore."

Gabrielle draws forward and stops a few paces from her enemies.

"I have come to offer you a deal," says the woman.

"Unless it's Xena's head in that bag, we ain't interested," says Dilawar, gesturing to the healer's satchel at her hip.

"I only ask that you hear me a moment," says Gabrielle, fidgeting with the edge of her bag.

Dilawar and Axius laugh, but Cortese seems to consider this blonde woman a moment. "All right," he says slowly, stepping closer to her. "Speak."

Gabrielle straightens and looks the warlord straight in the eye. "An even exchange. My life for your abandonment of this campaign, and the salvation of your dignity."

Cortese now joins his lieutenants in their raucous laughter. Wiping the cruel, mirthful tears from his eyes, the warlord advances on the bard and positions his face close to hers, his back turned to Dilawar and Axius.

"What kinda deal is that? I'm going to kill ya anyway," he says.

"I figured you would say that," says Gabrielle, looking down to her nervous hand on the lip of her bag. "Is there no chance for peace?"

Cortese emits a loud bark of laughter once more. "Peace?" he condescends, turning back to his equally as tickled men. "You're serious?"

The bard makes a slight movement, fashioned out of quick precision. Cortese gives a small, almost inaudible grunt.

"Yes," replies Gabrielle, her eyebrows knitted together in a pained way. Cortese staggers a moment, prompting confused expressions to pass over his lieutenants' grizzled features.

When the warlord turns around, Dilawar and Axius see that a hunting knife is sunk to the hilt in Cortese's chest, right through his heart. His expression is one of surprise; it remains on his smooth, olive face as he falls to the ground and slackens only when the last flicker of life whispers from his cold brown eyes.

 

From a perch in a high-standing diseased tree in the western woods, Xena does a quick head-count of the attending legions. From their complexion, the Warrior Princess assumes these men to be eastern Scythians or perhaps Persians. She allows herself a brief moment of anger. How had she not seen this coming? Allied warlords! She runs through a brief catalog of raiders from that area: Was it Afsar-ud-Din who rode with Cyrus the Destroyer, or Bahman the Terrible, or even Dilawar who claimed second in command to Fath Shah, the one who conquered all of Damak? She didn't know. And she hated not knowing.

Xena watches as the legion forms up, gripping their tulwar swords more firmly in their seasoned hands. She could tell, just from the firm lines of their ranks, that this was a veteran, skilled army. For a moment, Xena feels a longing lodge inside her for an army like that. The wonders she could do with real warriors! The world wouldn't stand a chance. High above, as if from the seats of the heavens, Xena allows herself an amount of pride. In the next ten years, she would have succeeded in destroying whole nations, torn kings from their entitled gilded thrones and reigned upon the destitute and blackened lands of their kingdoms; she would have stood in temples upon temples scattered throughout the Known World and kicked over their small brass gods from their cedar altars; she would have sailed over more seas than she could name, traversed thousands of shadowed mountain ranges, Hades she might even have learned to fly like the birds in the sky. Xena smiles as she imagines.Then, she thinks of fire, burning quick and hungrily.

Some shouted commands of the legion brigadier shatter her fantasy. Steeling herself from her own regret and hubris, Xena works quickly at unraveling the bandage to covers her knife wound. Pulling the material out from under her armor, she wraps it around the trunk of the tree. Once secured, Xena reaches into a satchel at her side and retrieves a small wineskin. Dousing the bandage on the tree and the surrounding brittle foliage with potent alcohol, the warrior takes the flint and boot dagger in her hand. She sucks in a breath, knowing that what she is about to do is suicide. Xena sends a brief and simple prayer not to the gods, but to Gabrielle. _Please be safe_ , she prays, _I love you_.

Xena strikes the blade against the flint and ignites the cloth and the dried lumber. It bursts into flame and the warrior nearly gets singed herself before leaping dextrously onto a lower branch and then onto the ground. She watches as the top of the great old oak becomes engulfed in flames. And then, as the brilliant glow lights the starless night sky and as it catches the attention of the enemy army, Xena takes off in a wolf-like run through the trees.

She runs into a left flanking position and draws her sword; she watches as the men scatter away from the surging fire and abandon their ranks in the chaos. And just as Xena positions her tongue at the roof of her mouth to emit a piercing battle cry, she catches the glint of metal on the forest floor. There, appeared in front of her, is a silver circular object with an angular design melded with brass and set with blue precious gems. For a moment, Xena feels captivated by the object; she stoops to pick it up in her hand and she discovers that it bears razor-sharp edges honed with divine precision. It must be a weapon, she thinks. Clutching her fingers around the discus, she sets her eyes on one soldier who had stayed closest to her. And almost by instinct, Xena lets the weapon fly cleanly out of her hand. It spins like a dervish and cuts through the air like a diving sparrow and impales itself in the chest of the soldier. Smiling to herself, Xena emits that battle cry and runs into the fray.


	19. 19/Epilogue

 

**XVIV.**

Their expressions would be comical if not for the seriousness and morbidity of the situation. This slender blonde girl had just killed one of the most feared warlords in Greece with a precision and ruthlessness that could not be ratified by her disposition.

"She's killed Cortese," says Axius, rather dumbly.

Dilawar's reaction is equally as droll when he breaks into a loud bark of laughter. "It seems Xena's whore went and did us a favor," he says, grasping his sword. Gabrielle stoops quickly and withdraws with some effort, the knife from the Butcher of Thessaly's chest. She knows the knife will be of little to no aid in close combat, but it really isn't the point anyway. The poet steels herself, holding the knife in front of her in feeble attempt at defence.

"The army's mine," says Dilawar, "at least what's left of it." Axius grunts in affirmation, knowing that his co-lieutenant has the loyalty of the men anyway. "And first order o' business," Dilawar continues, "is to make an example outta this girl. No woman deserves the honor of taking a warrior's life."

Then, without warning, the newly appointed warlord throws his sword in a heavy downward arc meant to slice the bard cleanly in two. But, Gabrielle is quick and trained and she ducks out of the way, rolling from her knee onto her back and then swiftly up onto her feet. Dilawar grunts and slices through the air in the direction of her head. Gabrielle attempts to avoid this blow, but the blade manages to find her upper arm, slicing through the material of her tunic and into her soft skin; the blood begins to pour. She glances at her wound and knows that now is the time. She resolves herself to kill no more, to step cleanly out of this circle of violence. Gabrielle throws her knife into the ground and it sticks upward in the dampened soil. Again, Axius and Dilawar are befuddled by the paradoxical actions of this young woman.

"Foolish girl!" spits Dilawar. A ferocious smile finds its way across his face. "Here, Ax, I give you a gift in honor of our new alliance. Take the life of this coward woman."

"I am not a coward!" yells Gabrielle.

Dilawar laughs and looks back at his comrade. But Axius has a curious look on his face as if he were trying to unravel this woman, this Gabrielle, who offers herself up like a lamb to wolves.

"Why do you throw down your weapon?" he asks to her.

"Because I have sacrificed enough to War, and I plan to sacrifice all to Love. And you, though you are both murderers and thieves, will act as agents for Love this night. Willingly and unwittingly."

"Kill her!" roars Dilawar, gesturing maniacally to the bard with the sharpened tip of his sword. But Axius does not move. And still with the curious expression on his face, he shakes his head, turns, and walks away. I am done with nonsense, thinks the seasoned warrior, I am done with war.

Dilawar forces a faux-nonchalance, but his face deepens to a purplish shade of rage. "Makes sense Cortese would keep a coward cunt as a Second," he says, rounding on Gabrielle.

Gabrielle barely has a fleeting moment to gasp before Dilawar thrusts forward and impales his curved, tulwar sword deep into the cavity of her poet's heart. The bard's last thought before blackness, like the surging waters of the sea, is of Xena: it is of her lover's smile and her eyes; she wishes she could remember exactly that shade of blue.

" _No_ ," comes a defeated whisper from the trees. It issues from Leon, who had failed Xena once more in the worst way of failure. He looks on in horror at the limp body of the bard, which lays curled like a child in a pool of her own blood. Well, Leon decided, if his life was forfeit and he had squandered his pride and betrayed his people, he would at least bring his General the body of her loved one. It is the least he can do. And so Leon charges forth from the trees, lumbering on his broken leg, and throws a knife squarely into the skull of Dilawar, who had been cleaning Gabrielle's blood off his blade. Dilawar is the first person Leon has killed and it wracks through him like the shifting of tectonic plates. He would bring back to Xena the body of her lover.

 

The chakram clangs against a Persian shield, rebounds and spins to decapitate yet another soldier. The Warrior Princess catches it in a preternatural motion, sparing a moment in her thoughts to marvel at her new weapon. She barely had to think and the thing killed on command and returned; it was better than a bolt of Zeus' lightning. Brandishing her chakram in one hand and her sword in the other, Xena slices through each man as he enters her vision. The barrage had been immediate and continual, warriors pouring forth to attack her as the fire blazed around them. But Xena feinted and blocked, cut and hacked with the deadliest of precision. In fact, if she would admit it to herself, she had never fought this well in her entire life. And then a moment came where she felt a blow to her chest as if it had been delivered by the ghost of a giant. No mortal had struck her and yet she felt the beastliest of pain course through her veins. Immediately, Xena felt absence as she had never experienced it. She couldn't make sense of the feeling, but she knew something was wrong, horribly wrong. She felt fear, it seems, for the first time in her short life.

With her sword, Xena rips through the chest of one man and in the same motion slices with her chakram at the neck of another. She is drenched in Persian blood, can feel her skin wrinkling under its sticky coagulation. Her body aches as it never has before; her knife wound throbs, her ribs are broken, her face bruised. She knows that she cannot hold out for much longer, and she knows that she has made a sizeable dent in Cortese's reinforcements; Xena is confident her army can defend against the remaining force without the guidance of her command. She registers the grey light of dawn and wishes for the quickness of death. Gabrielle, she thinks, stay alive–– oh, please be alive.

One man's sword finds its way into the flesh of her thigh, and Xena drops with the searing pain of its path. Now on the ground, the remaining warriors hover around her like droning bees, clamoring for the kill. Xena throws the flat of her blade up to catch a fatal blow and succeeds in doing, but is swiftly kicked in the gut and disarmed of her sword by another. With only her chakram left, she attempts to roll onto her side and slice at the Achilles tendon of the closest soldier. But the toe of a boot connects with the Warrior Princess' temple and her coherence is vanquished. She spares her last moment of lucidity to bid farewell to life, to her grand dreams, to the monstrosity of her future, to her family, to her love. And then, there is only the violence and the darkness.

 

 

Lyceus stands in the crowded marketplace, crawling with terrified townspeople whimpering their speculations and their fears.

"You're sure she said a candlemark?" Lyceus asks to Mimnos.

"Yessir," answers the messenger, "she said Cortese would be here and she'd fight 'im to the death. Have you got the soldiers in place like Xena wanted?"

"Yes, they're allocated to the southern and northern gates and in the town hall for that surprise attack. We're ready to go, we just need Xena to get the Hades over here," Lyceus seethes, translating his fear and worry into anger.

Ganix grunts nearby, crossing his arms over his chest and casting his eyes toward the northern fields in hopes that they may fall upon his commander.

"Lyceus!" calls Cyrene, pushing her way through the throngs of people. His mother is followed closely by his elder brother and both sport serious expressions.

"Have you heard anything from Xena?" Cyrene asks once she reaches Lyceus. Her son shakes his head. "Gabrielle?" He shakes his head once more, and the family can barely contain the tears that threaten to fall from their identical blue eyes.

"Have faith, my boys," says Cyrene, gathering her sons into a fierce hug, "We have to have faith."

"In what?" asks Toris, casting his broken stare over the wounded and the suffering, those grieving over fallen husbands, wives, sisters, brothers, mothers, fathers, and friends.

"In love," rasps Lyceus. But before Toris or Cyrene can nod or shake their head in disbelief their attention is diverted to a commotion through the northern entrance of the market.

A horse steps precariously through the people, bearing the weight of two. Leon sits atop the beast, a shrouded human-shaped form draped over the saddle in front of him. Finding Cyrene and her family in the crowd, Leon pulls the reins on his mount and stops at their side. All their eyes shift to the petite body he carries.

"Hades," breathes Toris, "It can't be."

Lyceus is too stricken to move, he will not allow himself to know his fear.

Cyrene's hand flutters up to her mouth and tears flow freely down her cheeks. "Is it...?" she cannot bring herself to finish. The crowd draws silent and they witness the event before them.

Lyceus looks up at Leon and meets the wounded messenger's eyes. Reading something in Leon's eyes, he quietly steps to the body and puts two gentle fingers to the edge of the shroud that covers the deceased person's face. Unraveling it slowly, a lock of blonde hair falls from the cloth and Lyceus turns and retches onto the cobblestone.

" _Oh no! No– no– no_ " he moans. Toris and Cyrene steady him by the shoulders and support his weight. Taking a few breaths, Lyceus violently tears himself from his mother and brother's grasp. He wraps two arms around Gabrielle's body and pulls her off the horse and into his lap as he sinks down to the ground. He rocks her and sobs and his family kneels and cries with him.

Then, a brilliant flash of light blinds the surrounding villagers and there appears before them the God of War himself. Cradled in his strong arms is the limp body of his Chosen. There is only darkness and sadness on those immortal features; Ares looks as though he would set fire to the world in a single thought. A scream cuts through the haze of his mourning and he finds Xena's mother rushing toward him like a wayward cannonball, he feels his love's body wretched from his arms. Cyrene wails again, and runs her hands over her daughter's face, finding her skin still with a trace of warmth.

"She's still alive," says Ares, his deep voice quavering, "but her wounds are bad, beyond my healing."

"You!" Lyceus screams, "This is your fault! I hate you! I detest you!" He labors to his feet and heaves Gabrielle up into his arms and staggers to his sister's side. He settles Gabrielle next to Xena and stands up to look the God of War in the eye. "I spit on every Olympian," Lyceus spits on Ares' boots, "I defy every star in the heavens."

Ares merely lowers his stare to the black-haired warrior at his feet and disappears into the brilliance of the dawn.

The bystanders cannot believe what their eyes had beheld and it seems every heart and every breath drops with Lyceus to the ground. They watch him as he touches his forehead against Xena's chest. He feels the quiver of her shallow breath.

"Xena, can you hear me?" he whispers, as Cyrene cradles her head in her lap, "they took her. They killed her."

And as if those words were capable of stirring the dead from the very depths of the Underworld, Xena's eyes flutter open to reveal their startling color to the living world one last time. With some mined strength, she manages to turn her head and look at the body of Gabrielle laid out next to her, whose bloodied shroud had become loosed from her face. Nothing is right in this world, Xena thinks and then her eyes cloud over and mimic the grey morning sky.

"Please don't die," says Lyceus, holding firmly onto his sister's pale, cool hand.

Xena attempts to form words in her mouth, but a trickle of blood replaces them and she seems to choke on her own tears.

"Oh no," moans Cyrene, bending to try to return her daughter back into the safety of her own body. Toris shakes and holds fast to Xena's other hand.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," says Toris, repeating the words like a mantra, as if her death is his fault.

"Please don't die," says Lyceus, taking up his own refrain.

But, Xena merely stares up at the people she loves most in all the world and mouths the words:  _Let me_.

And with that, the mighty Warrior Princess gives up her life, and her spirit rides fast out into the slipstream of the wind that carries over Amphipolis, over the battlements, through the killing fields and up over the trees and the distant mountains. A cracking thunder echoes her spirit's warpath into the heavens. The skies turn deep into themselves, draining of color, and then the gods seem to pry open the clouds with their hands and drop the most overwhelming of rains.

The marketplace sings with terror and confusion. Already the waters are pooling into the trenches on the ground and flooding in up to the wheels of the carts.

"She's dead!" comes a yell. "Xena's dead!" A murmur breaks through the people as the rain comes down.

"The general's dead!" 

Panic breaks lose between them like the fire had the Persians in the northern wood: children scream; wives lay steadying hands on the fearful shoulders of their husbands; the soldiers are wildly aggressive in their fatigue.

Lyceus picks his head up from his sister's silent chest. He looks wearily down at his brother and mother, who still bend over Xena and Gabrielle unable to right themselves under the weight of their grief. The young man looks around at the chaos that threatens to consume them in this storm. He looks down once more to the lifeless hand still clutched in his own: the poet in him notes the dirt under her fingernails––Xena could never keep her hands clean––and the blood that found all the crevices in her skin and dried in a pattern. He looks to his own hand and realizes his too is covered in blood, his sister's blood from the fatal sword wound to her chest that he had fruitlessly tried to treat. So much blood thinks Lyceus, blood binds us and blood breaks us apart. He suddenly understands the duty that Xena had passed on to him through the spilling of it. Xena would want him to fight, and she would want him to win.

Lyceus stands abruptly. "Listen up!" he yells, but his people do not hear. Lyceus stoops to his sister's lifeless body and withdraws her sword from its sheath at her hip. He turns quickly, with the sword in his hand, and swings it with a surprising force at the wooden post of a market vendor cart. With one stroke, he breaks through the thick pillar and the awning comes crashing down. Now he has their attention.

"I said listen!" he roars, breathing heavily. "We must keep calm! We must take the necessary precautions in the event of another attack!" Lyceus strides over to the nearest warrior and takes him by the collar, leading him a few steps in the direction of the hall.

"I want all able to fight in their positions! You've had your orders!" he says. "I want the sick and the wounded taken back into the hall; and if there is no room for them all, then take them into your homes and care for them to the best of your ability."

The people start to move, as if in a trance, following Lyceus' orders. They are grateful to have someone to follow. War has made them void.

But then a voice calls out, "Rider approaching!".

Lyceus takes off toward the northern gate with Xena's sword in his hand. He doesn't have to walk far, however, as a grey warhorse breaks through the throngs of people at a fast trot. From the warrior's armor, Lyceus knows that he is a man of high-rank in Cortese's army.

"You there!" booms the rider. He gestures toward Lyceus and rides closer to where he stands. "Why do you carry that sword?"

"Because you  _ripped_ it from her!" he shouts, his voice full of venom.

"The Warrior Princess is dead?" queries the gruff stranger.

Lyceus merely glares, red tears threatening in his eyes.

"My name is Axius, formerly brigadier to the warlord Cortese."

"Formerly?" asks Lyceus.

"Cortese is dead," answers Axius, "killed by that woman." A gasp rises among those gathered near to the exchange and murmurs travel through the people as they re-tell the news to others too far to hear.

"Xena killed him?" says Lyceus.

"No, the other one, the blonde."

" _Gabrielle_?" intones Lyceus, shocked at the news.

"Yes, it was a quick one for sure," says Axius, "short and sweet, nice and fine kill with no need for glory. She didn't seem ter enjoy it neither."

"Who killed her?" demands Lyceus.

"Dilawar, but he's a gone to the underworld too now, thanks to yer sister's messenger."

Lyceus takes a moment to process all this information. "Who killed Xena?" he continues.

"Which brings me to purpose," says Axius, shifting in his saddle, "it seems a half legion of Dilawar's Persian reinforcements killed the Warrior Princess."

"Gods!" gasps Lyceus; that explains the shape his sister was in; he feels bile rise in his stomach.

"You know something, kid?" Axius suddenly leans down in his saddle and speaks right into Lyceus' clouded blue eyes. "There were two of them legions of Persians up in 'em hills. You know what that means, don't ya? Means Xena took out a legion of seasoned warriors all on herself. She was like a demon had swept through that forest, fire and all. In all my years, I swear upon Ares' feet, I never saw a fighter like her. Never gonna again. Xena had herself a true warrior's death and your family should do well to take pride on that."

Lyceus merely stares brokenly at this old warlord. He realizes that this man is trying to show him kindness, in his own way. He is honoring his enemy by paying respects to her family.

"Thank you," he replies, almost sincerely.

"And that woman, the bard. I'm sorry fer that too. I coulda done something. I just walked away. My good deed was walking away from a lady, leaving her to get killed. Ain't too heroic. I done a lot worse. But, she threw down her knife and something pierced me right in the chest like she'd thrown the knife straight into my heart. First time I'd felt my heart in so long. She died brave, a warrior of the spirit, if not of the sword. I want her family to know it."

"I will tell them," chokes Lyceus, more moved by this than anything else.

"In honor of 'em," says Axius, "and because Xena the Warrior Princess and her bard, Gabrielle, managed to kick our arses into the chicken coop, I hereby call a forfeit of arms."

It takes Lyceus a moment to figure out what Axius was saying, but then it clicked. "You will call off your general's army?"

" _My_ army, both Cortese and Dilawar are dead. Command falls to me."

"So you do have the authority."

"Yeah, so forget this war. Forget all war; I'm old and tired and done with it. I oath to withdraw the remaining men and disband them soon after."

Lyceus feels a light filling his chest. "Thank you," he says, then feels the need to add, "Go in peace."

"Aye," Axius salutes the young man and without further word, he turns his horse and takes off in the direction from which he rode in on.

Lyceus is stunned for a moment and then he feels the stares of the people around him and hears the valley of quiet that settles over them all.

"It's over!" he calls, "The war is over."

And yet it seems this war has stolen all meaning to language, as no one in the gathered many understand the young poet's words. Then, in a moment, peace begins to reach them in the slowing of the rain and with it a restored sense of meaning and beauty.

"The war is over!" someone shouts.

"We've won!" yells another.

"Peace has won!" echoes Lyceus, finding a place on the toppled cart to stand above his kinfolk and neighbors. His people cheer with him and kiss each other's cheeks and let their tears of sadness turn to joy and mourning. Somewhere a chant starts up and it spreads as if on the crest of a wave to Lyceus' ears. The word he recognizes brings a fresh tide of tears.

 _Xe-na–– Xe-na–– Xe-na_ , they chant. His sister's name rises up among them and it becomes a synonym for victory, for honor, for sacrifice, for perseverance, for love and respect between them.

From the periphery of his clouded vision, Lyceus sees his mother stand up from Xena and Gabrielle, who lie divinely still beside one another in the rain; Cyrene takes Toris' arm and moves to stand next to her youngest child. The three of them stand together and listen to the people call out Xena's name. Then, in a voice nearly strangled with emotion, Cyrene begins to sing. She sings the song of Amphipolis and in a moment, the women take up the chorus and the men continue their chant.

_Gledai ma, gledai, pilence lale, nagledai misa_

_Dneska sum tuka, pilence lale, utre ma niama._

As she sings, she thinks of her daughter. When Xena was a small child, she used to make her mother sing the song of their homeland every night before falling asleep.

"Why do you love this song so much?" Cyrene remembers asking her young daughter, no more than five summers old. Hades, Atreus had still been alive then. Xena's long dark hair spilled over the woolen sheets of her bedspread; startlingly blue eyes peered up at her with an innocence that had vanished soon after.

"Do you love me?" she asked oddly, causing her mother to frown.

"What? Of course I do," Cyrene replied, gently she hoped.

"Say it," said Xena.

"Say what? I love you?"

"Yes, but say it again and not in a question," commanded the little girl, then added almost sheepishly, "––if you want to."

Cyrene looked deep into her daughter's blue eyes, and said, "I love you."

Xena's eyes light up like lightning in the dusk of a storm. "That's why I like it," she says.

"Like what?"

"The song," she hums a few bars of the  _Homeland,_ "I like it because it makes me feel the same thing as you saying 'I love you' to me."

Cyrene giggled almost shamefully, drunk on the love she felt for this creature, and pulled Xena into a fierce hug. "I understand, my child," she whispers into her hair, "our song is all about that very thing. It's a song about love."

"Our song," repeats Xena, close to sleep.

Cyrene sings that song as she remembers. And suddenly, it is all too much to bear and she finds it difficult to breathe. She's gone. My daughter is dead. Cyrene cannot fathom living another moment of this heartache.

She breaks her song and screams in the music's stead, " _My child!_ " and drops to her knees beside her sons. A terrible crack of thunder wracks through the heavens as Zeus tries to break open the very foundation of the earth. And, as if lightning had struck the marketplace, there appears before them first the Goddess of the Hunt, then the God of War, and finally with a triumphant burst of color, the Goddess of Wisdom and Warfare.

Those gathered are too stunned to move or speak. Here, in a village square, among a petty war between peasants and warlords, here appears half the Sacred Caste of the Olympians.

"Stop!" booms Athena, her eyes turning into a terrible translucence. She aims her wrath at her immortal siblings.

"You're too late Athena," answers Artemis. The rain suddenly halts and a fierce wind blows through the annals of the town and sweeps them up. 

"Give it up. You made the rules, and you lost at your own game," says Ares, forming a glowing orb of light between his palms. "You were out-strategized by––" but the God is cut off by another flash of light.

"By Love," finishes Aphrodite, her garishly pink and ethereal accouterments severely misplaced amongst the bloodied and dirtied villagers. She glances around at them nervously, as if willing them not to touch her.

"You?" screams Athena. "You did this?"

"Well, yeah," replies Aphrodite, in a matter-of-fact tone.

"You convinced them to sacrifice themselves?" asked Artemis.

"I  _had_  to," intones the Goddess of Love, "it was the only way to make you all realize the truth. Xena and Gabrielle sacrificed themselves for Love, for their love of each other, of their families and their friends and their neighbors. They did it for the love of a cause, which is peace, and peace is always a part of love. Athena, you tampered with the Fates in hope of self-preservation, and now another universe is in shambles."

"The future world is collapsing in on itself," says Artemis, looking piercingly at Athena, "because they both died and a thread disappeared entirely from the Loom of the Fates. One stitch unraveled, Athena,  _one stitch_ ––" the brunette Goddess turns to the blonde, "Aphrodite, you are the one who told the older Xena about the splitting of the life-threads?"

Aphrodite tosses her hair and smirks. She pretends to examine a fingernail, then looks up. "Let me tell you all something," she says, her voice taking on a more serious quality than her divine siblings had ever heard her speak, "I always win."

Athena disappears sharply; Artemis and Ares look to each other, then vanish as well.

And with that, Aphrodite strides over to where Xena and Gabrielle lay. Stooping, so that the hem of her silken skirts brush into the mud and rainwater, the Goddess places two hands on either of their chests and whispers a few words.

"You both are my creations, and you both are perfect," she says, "Live lives together in the manner of your natures."

Aphrodite stands from the warrior and the bard and walks to stand in front of Cyrene and her sons. The Goddess reaches out a hand and presses it to the matriarch's cheek in a gesture of blessing and shared sorrow.

"The Fates have been cruel to you," says Aphrodite, "in this life and the other."

Leaving Cyrene baffled, she turns to Lyceus and a look of profound sadness enters her eyes.

"Lyceus," says the Goddess, "my wonderful boy, my Chosen." She puts two hands to the sides of his face and an ethereal mist seems to engulf them for a moment. He looks at Aphrodite and keeps her eyes locked to his and something seems to transmit between the two of them. Lyceus hears a clear voice in his head and he feels a lightness and loftiness take hold of his senses:

_You have so many incarnations, and all are champions of Love. In this one, you must fall to Love and by your fall will the world return to order._

In Lyceus' eyes is understanding, an absolute and total knowledge of the nature and truth of things. He understands his purpose. The mist disappears and Aphrodite releases him from his trance. Lyceus turns first to his brother and puts a hand on his shoulder, bringing him into a hug.

"I forgive you and I love you, brother," says Lyceus.

"What's going on?" says Toris.

"Lyceus!" his mother's voice is ragged.

But her son merely releases his brother and grabs hold of his mother. "I love you, Ma. Be as strong as you always are."

With that, he turns back to Aphrodite. The young man's lips tremble, his eyes water and he gazes around at the ravaged world one last time. Lyceus meets Aphrodite's eye and gives a brief, curt nod.

The Goddess furrows her brow, determined to make this passage as painless as possible for her Chosen.

Lyceus closes his eyes.

Aphrodite calls upon the Fates and the rite bestowed upon her by her Olympian blood and releases Lyceus' spirit from the earth.

And then, their world is emptiness.

Their world is nothing.

 

 

 

**Epilogue**

Xena awakes early in the morning when the rays of Helios' chariot are still pinpricks on the horizon over Brittainia. Her mind feels clear and sharp. She remembers everything, like she had lived two lives in her sleep. Horrified, she glances to her side and finds Gabrielle fast asleep, the lines of her sadness still faint on her face. Had it all been a dream?

The Warrior Princess doubts that Morpheus had taken such intricate trouble in crafting that nightmare, even for her.

It's over now, she thinks. We've won. Even in this world, with its hardship and its suffering, we have won–– for I can still wake here, at her side.

Rising, Xena begins to stoke the fire back into life and starts to work on a light breakfast of fish and toast for the both of them.

Gabrielle wakes to the sound of Xena humming. As if from some far-off dreamland, she wakes as if nothing but the pain of last night's thoughts of Dahak and Hope were worrying her mind. She remembers nothing of the life she lived during the night. She pretends to be asleep, so that she may listen to Xena sing. Gabrielle recognizes the song. She recognizes it from her first journey to Amphipolis; the women in the fields were singing that song as they reaped the hay.

Gabrielle opens her eyes and finds Xena looking at her. A smile inexplicably finds itself like a sunrise over the bard's face. Xena smiles in return, prodding at the fish in the frying pan with the end of her hunting knife.

"Good morning, Gabrielle."

**The End.**


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